Lionsnake Chronicles IV: Harry and the Three Knights
by Eria
Summary: Sequel to Harry and the Barking Rook. Harry returns to Hogwarts for his fourth year, much wiser and eager to avoid the pitfalls of the previous three years. Unfortunately, his fate is entwined by the machinations of others, and he soon discovers that he has trusted the wrong people...
1. To the World Cup

_**Author's Notes: **Hello, if you're a new reader, I strongly recommend that you read the first three arcs of the **Lionsnake Chronicles. **__I like canon-based characterizations, but will throw in fanon ideas or scenes found in the films to keep things interesting.__**  
**_

_This is a Slytherin!Harry fanfic. There's still no pairings with Harry as of yet, though other characters around him are beginning to pair up. Of course, peers being what they are Harry is beginning to feel the pressure to conform in that regard._

_I will update this story at least weekly. It's already written, but I'm still hammering out a lot of issues I'm not so fond of._

_May you enjoy your reading adventure._

* * *

Sunday morning, Harry Potter woke with a startled jolt. Immediately, he brought a hand to his throbbing, lightning-shaped scar. This was the second time in a month he'd woken from a strange, vivid nightmare with the scar on his forehead hurting terribly, the second time he'd dreamt he was a massive snake, easily the size of that boa constrictor from Brazil he'd once accidentally let loose. It was bizarre that he was having these nightmares about places he didn't know with supporting characters he didn't recognize. Harry wished he could make out Voldemort's servant. He did know there had been a woman there, Voldemort's caretaker from the sounds of it… The only certainty was that they involved his fears involving Trelawney's prediction.

Yet, and this thought chilled him terribly, what if the dreams that had occurred with his scar hurting _weren't_ simply dreams of anxiety and worry? What if at this very moment Voldemort was planning to use Harry for some awful ritual that included his blood? Had the evil wizard replaced a Hogwarts staff member to lure Harry out? Or… was the 'faithful servant' none other than Severus Snape, Harry's Slytherin Head of House…?

He shivered, chiding himself over his assumption against his previous legal guardian. It wasn't like Harry knew every Death Eater to crawl the Earth, so he couldn't jump to that conclusion. Beneath his cool fingertips the old scar continued to burn as if a white-hot wire was pressing against it. In the darkness, he reached out for his Glaxxes, wizard-made glasses that were much more durable than the old Muggle pair that had gotten Splinched last summer. He put them on and sat up in the darkness.

Neville's oblivious, soft snores came from the other side of the room they shared in Longbottom Manor. Since Harry had been adopted as a Ward of the Longbottom family, Harry hadn't minded fulfilling his brother's simple request. Besides, the Manor was large and uninviting enough as it was without sleeping in separate rooms. The snoring was never worse than the likes that Vernon Dursley had emitted.

Leaning towards the bedside table, Harry turned on an oil lamp with a twist of the tiny side-knob; a tiny spark magically leapt to the wick providing dim light in the room. Taking the lamp by the round handle, he padded out of the room and into the drafty corridor. As he went to Neville's personal study, he drew his cool fingers across the still-painful scar once more as he let out a troubled sigh.

Inside the room, he stopped at the mirror on the wall, pulling the black fringe from the distinct scar to get a closer look. A lean boy of average height looked back at him, his bright green eyes puzzled under his untidy bed-hair. Surprisingly, the scar didn't look swollen or bloody… Why would it hurt so much if it showed no sign of it…? The soreness reminded him of his accidental duel against Snape the previous year.

He was uneasy. Harry didn't know when he stopped believing in coincidences, but he felt better now that he believed that the scar-hurting nightmares were true. It meant he could act to do something about it. Looking into his green eyes, he said, "I'm not going to let myself be murdered."

"That's the spirit, sir," his mirror image said with a pleasant voice.

With a snort, Harry covered the scar by patting the messy hair down.

"I know a losing battle when I see one," the mirror said with a jolly hint of amusement.

"Oh, quiet."

"Why should I, when I'm brimming with witty commentary?"

Harry was not about to argue with himself as he had last week to Neville's overexcited laughter, so he stepped away from the mirror and set the oil lamp down on the table. If the two times his scar had burned weren't dreams, who catered to Voldemort's every whim? From the discussion that the male servant and Voldemort had when she was first brought in, she was supposed to have worked for the Ministry of Magic. What could she have known that Voldemort had found useful? Harry concentrated hard, frowning. Voldemort asked the brown-haired woman about the security of the Quidditch World Cup, asked her where it was to be held; what day it was to begin at and what time. He also asked her other things about the Triwizard Tournament and then he cast "Imperio!"

But that was all Harry could remember of that first dream. Harry had woken as soon as a mist-like substance had erupted from Voldemort's wand. Too much in a hurry to go to his own desk, Harry took out a quill, a full inkwell, and a page of parchment from Neville's stash in front of him and began to feverishly write down everything he remembered from his most recent one.

He'd been a snake called Nagini, who had a craving for rodents… who was often milked for her venom by the woman... The decrepit mansion stood at the top of a hill near a graveyard…

Inside, it was chilly everywhere and covered in layers of dust. Voldemort intended to stay there while he was too feeble to do anything for himself. With another faceless servant, a wizard by the raspy voice, Voldemort was plotting to kill someone before that person went after Harry... That was when Voldemort had spoken of the faithful servant at Hogwarts… Had he installed a new DADA instructor loyal to him? Harry let the memory of the 'dream' fill his mind.

Beside a roaring fireplace, Voldemort had been sitting in a chair with elegantly bowed legs… there was a rug next to the hearth. His conversation with the wizard had been interrupted by an old Muggle… a gardener Voldemort had called Bryce before he'd murdered the man in cold blood.

Reminded of the sharp pain that woke him, Harry rubbed his forehead and set the quill back into the inkwell. The feel of old magic in the study was somehow comforting. Grey light began to dimly color the sole window across from Harry. The sound of the old clock ticking filled the empty room.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind as Mrs. Longbottom had taught him every single day that summer. Worries and uneasy concerns sprang forth disturbing his attempt. He exhaled noisily. It was impossible. He would never be good at Occlumency. He couldn't keep his mind silent. It kept churning through terrible possibilities of misfortune, painful mistakes, and future failures.

After all, Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived. He knew that he would be forced to confront Voldemort, the most powerful Dark wizard for a century, likely this year. Harry didn't know _how_ the evil wizard had survived, or why Harry was left alive with the scar as tribute to the dark magic that had touched him as an infant, but after Harry's refusal to join Voldemort's cause Harry knew he'd made a very real enemy.

Harry gazed at the shadowy bookcases around him. Longbottom Manor was odd and different. He hadn't grown up around magic. As per a ruling of Wizengamot Judges and some required magic performed with Mrs. Longbottom, Harry Potter had become the Legal Blood-Brother of Neville Longbottom.

Harry had lived with his awful Muggle relatives until the Ministry of Magic removed him from the Dursleys due to 'Child Mistreatment'. For the past two summers, Harry had lived with Severus Snape, a second cousin whose relation was close enough that the Blood Wards would protect Harry. He had been happy for a time, until the bastard had forced him away with some stupid ploy to have him turned over to Voldemort. Whatever the reason, Harry doubted Voldemort would take back someone who had renounced him so publicly.

Despite her unpleasantness, Augusta Longbottom née Prince was the next best candidate to temporarily adopt Harry. She was more closely related to Harry than Snape since she was Harry's great-aunt. Harry would have preferred to stay with his godfather, who was his second cousin once-removed. However, the trial date to prove the fugitive's innocence in the deaths of Harry's parents had yet to be set. Many times he had nearly picked up the compact Draco had given him to ask if he had heard anything, but didn't. He'd ignored Draco's yells when they came and stuffed the compact into a bag stuffed with worn out socks. Besides, why bother getting indebted to the prat more than he already was?

At any rate, it meant that Harry would live with someone his age—Mrs. Longbottom's _other _grandson. Harry had so far felt safe with the Matriarch of the Longbottom family; Mrs. Longbottom's son and daughter-in-law had been tortured with the Cruciatus Curse by Voldemort's followers until they went mad. Ever since, Mrs. Longbottom was very strict and extremely protective of her grandson, Neville, and Harry couldn't see her ever turning Harry over to Voldemort, even if the evil wizard managed to abduct Neville as leverage.

As for Neville's parents… they were currently lodged in St. Mungo's. They were pleasant, likeable people but they were unable to speak or hold any sort of attention. They had looked Harry over every five minutes as if he hadn't just been introduced the moment he'd met them and Alice, Neville's mum, had offered him a bubblegum wrapper same as she had with Neville. Harry was happy with that since he felt as if Neville's parents had accepted his presence in their family.

Even though Mrs. Longbottom told them to throw away the gum wrappers on their way out, the two of them had exchanged a defiant look and tucked the wrapper into their pockets. Without anything in his hand, Harry had patted the lid of the trash bin, which purred at the touch, on their way out.

When Harry had first learned he was a wizard four years ago, he was constantly surprised by everything magical. So, even something small like a purring trash bin could still catch him off guard. It'd been a great shock to find out Harry was a wizard, but even more so to know that his name was famous in the secretive Wizarding World. At eleven, Harry had thought it was very silly to think he was special because he had been present at the time of Voldemort's demise.

Now fourteen, his viewpoint hadn't changed. Something incredible had happened, Harry agreed, but he doubted it had much to do with him. Last year he would have said it was his mother's sacrifice that had protected him. Yet, an ancient wizard's portrait had said it was partly that and something else, but then refused to tell Harry what had saved his life. Whatever it was, it had nothing to do with Harry's magical gifts.

Other than on the Quidditch Pitch or in Charms class, he wasn't particularly gifted or talented among the other Slytherins. His advanced-for-his-age dueling skill was a combination of the quick, inborn reflexes that were incredibly useful in a Quidditch match, intense study, and dedicated practice. After all, Harry was very keen to survive his schooling at Hogwarts. At the end of summer, he would be starting his fourth year there, the halfway point to finishing his basic magical education.

Presently, he was only two weeks away from school to begin; tomorrow was the Quidditch World Cup Final. As Harry sat on the chair and watched the window glow brighter from the impeding sunrise, he was having second thoughts about going to the match. He knew he wouldn't be able to change Mrs. Longbottom's mind. She had insisted that she chaperone Neville and Harry when the letter from Theodore's father came with the invitations and tickets. Once Mrs. Longbottom made a decision—no matter how small and insignificant—it was absolute.

As the room became shrouded in a reddish orange glow, Harry picked up his now-dried parchment with the description of the dreams and went to the desk designated as his. His eyes paused over the numerous birthday cards he'd received. Before Harry had gone to Hogwarts, he'd never had a single friend. Now, he had been given so many things he actually liked or used that Harry had already written a letter to Professor Flitwick about placing an Undetectable Super-Extended Charm on his old trunk just to hold everything. The response from the Charms professor had been pleased, though Professor Flitwick declined due to his busy schedule. However, the professor promised to provide his fourth-year students with a lesson on that spell for Harry's benefit. That was even better.

Morning sunlight poured slowly over his desk, lighting the various trinkets on it. Harry's face nearly split wide into a smile as he remembered how his Slytherin year-mates had coordinated in sending him a mass of Slytherin paraphernalia with its traditional green-and-silver color scheme: quills, reams of parchment, patches, a fancy cardigan jumper, three pairs of socks, two ties—one with an animated silver snake upon it and the other with a flashing marquee regaling Slytherin's supremacy at Quidditch—a set of mittens, ear muffs, and frill-free night robes, all proudly stamped with the Slytherin Serpent on it. Harry thought that this was his housemates' rather thinly veiled response to him wearing Mrs. Weasley's _handmade_ Slytherin jumper at the Slytherin's Quidditch Final last year. Just to thumb his nose at them, Harry would wear the jumper again.

He smiled as the sunlight poured into the room, filling in the corners and causing the shadows to retreat. He'd been happy to receive startled thank-yous when he surprised his summer-born friends with a special gift and card for them. Mrs. Longbottom had complained about Harry's spending, and yet didn't stop him from sending the birthday presents to Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Bulstrode, Daphne, and even Draco. Harry had kept his promise to the prat even though it rankled him.

Harry touched the scar that no longer hurt. Obviously telling Snape the Death Eater about the dream was out of the question. It would only make the wizard insufferable in the coming school year if overt trust was given to him. Harry and Mrs. Longbottom were not on good enough terms for him to share something this important. Hermione would overly fret and insist he write to the headmaster, and this was not something he was comfortable telling Ginny or Sally-Anne.

Any of his other Slytherin year-mates couldn't be told either because they would report back to Draco who would report back to Snape, Draco's godfather. He _could _write to Theodore, but his friend had enough on his plate learning of the ins and outs of being a werewolf. And Lupin was out because, according to Theodore's weekly letters, the wizard apparently had yet to forgive himself for attacking a student. Harry didn't want to trouble the adult further.

Running his fingers back and forth over his scar, Harry thought. He _could_ send a note to Sirius Black, his godfather, but Sirius could hardly be counted on for a quick response due to his still-fugitive status. Despite having evidence, the Wizengamot hadn't yet brought the case forward, being much more interested in putting Harry's godfather back into Azkaban first. As a result, Harry didn't hear from Sirius for weeks and weeks, and he couldn't wait that long with something this important.

There was another adult Harry could count on who he might be able to trust with knowing. More importantly, the headmaster had connections that Harry did not. Maybe the elderly wizard would be able to track down where a Muggle gardener by the name of Bryce worked and ferret out Voldemort's hiding place or at least pass the information to someone who could do the same.

Banishing his worries about bothering Professor Dumbledore, Harry pulled out a sheet of greenish-hued parchment with a silver Slytherin crest in the corner and began to write:

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Sorry to bother you, but I thought this was too important not to pass along. Twice in the past two months I've had vivid dreams where I woke up with the scar on my forehead hurting. The only time the scar ever hurts is in the presence of Voldemort, but obviously he is nowhere near or else I wouldn't be able to write this. Enclosed are the details of the dreams. I'm sorry I didn't think to write the first one down right after I had it, and that this was all I could remember. _

_If I'm fretting over nothing, please let me know. _

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter_

After blotting the newly written letter, Harry took up the other sheet of parchment and folded the two together; he placed them both into an envelope and wrote Professor Dumbledore's name on it. A wax disc was fished out of a small box and placed where the flap met the back of the envelope. He grabbed the metal seal that bore the Longbottom crest and tapped the imprinting side with his wand like Mrs. Longbottom had shown. He then pressed the heated metal firmly to the wax and admired the imprinted seal when he lifted it away. He set the Longbottom metal seal aside.

Just as he turned the oil lamp off due to having plenty of light in the study, Neville yawned loudly by the study door. "What'cha doing up so early, Harry?"

"Couldn't sleep," Harry lied, adjusting his body language appropriately. "Is Hedwig back yet?"

Neville blinked at him. "Yes… She was raising a fuss in the room."

Harry swiftly passed him. Hedwig was in her open cage preening. On Harry's bed was a letter. "Hedwig, this needs to be delivered to Professor Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts as soon as possible. Can you do this for me?"

She squawked testily, but took the letter from his fingers and flew out the window before Harry said another word.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the envelope and recognized Theodore's curly scrawl of handwriting on the front. He tore it open and read:

_Harry,_

_Da's finished the Port Key and received all the paperwork through the Ministry of Magic. Once we collect Hermione, we'll be arriving by Floo as per Mrs. Longbottom's instructions to the main drawing room at one tomorrow. The Port Key goes active at one-thirty. If we miss this, we'll miss the match between Bulgaria and Ireland, so don't drag your feet!_

_Cheers,_

_Theodore Nott_

With a grin, Harry was able to shelve his worries for the time being. Tomorrow he would be watching the Quidditch World Cup and all his worries would be shown to be nothing.

"Ready to do some squats, Neville?"

"Do we have to? They make my legs hurt," his brother complained.

Harry chuckled. "You're the one who wanted to exercise with me. I was waiting for you to wake up. Now, come on. Let's get started. If we're late to breakfast, Mrs. Longbottom's going to give us an earful."

With a heavy sigh, Neville began the exercises Harry had started him on the very first day of summer break. Neville's awkwardness had yet to completely leave him as he'd hit another growth spurt. Now, he towered over Harry. In the afternoons they did Quidditch scrimmages, practicing Chaser and Keeper techniques because it was a lot more fun than enchanting a balled-up sock to be a snitch when Neville was bollocks at catching it.

Unbeknownst to the Gryffindor, his fellow housemates would likely have trouble recognizing the stocky, lean-faced teen. Harry couldn't wait to see their reactions.

* * *

The next day Harry awoke to bright cheerful sunlight. "Neville, wake up!" He clapped once, startling his brother awake. "Let's do some lunges first. And then jumps and twists. And then—"

"Haaarryyy," Neville whined as he opened a single eye to check the time. "It's not even six yet," he groaned.

"Well I thought after breakfast we'd ride our brooms around the manor, since we won't be able to this afternoon with the Quidditch World Cup and then—"

"That's right!" Neville crowed with wide-eyed excitement. "I forgot!"

Harry laughed. "Forgot? You know England hasn't hosted a World Cup since before we were born!"

Neville looked sheepish as he looked at Harry's bedhead and self-consciously brushed his light brown hair down. "Alright, let's get started then."

Three hours later, hot, sweaty and entirely exhausted, they stumbled into the dining room clutching one another as they laughed.

Mrs. Longbottom's lower lip curled. "Go get cleaned up. Hurry now!"

They did so. If they'd been at school Harry and Neville would have simply cast a Refreshening Charm on one another, but underage wizards and witches were expressly forbidden from practicing magic at home, and obviously Mrs. Longbottom didn't want to bother wasting the energy when they were perfectly capable of bathing themselves.

Breakfast as usual was a boring affair. Mrs. Longbottom talked at length about Occlumency; casual conversation was forbidden and only the best manners were allowed at the table. No bodily noises or any break in social protocol was permitted. Neville, having been raised this way since a young age, had no difficulties whatsoever. It was Harry who was often made to stand with a conjured tankard of water on his head and two buckets of water in each hand for an hour when he invariably chewed with his mouth open or belched unexpectedly during meals.

He had soon grown bored standing there at attention that he began to do different things to keep his mind engaged. First he learned how to maintain careful balance in a squat. Then he lifted a foot and held it out away from him or he kept his head upright and leaned heavily to one side or the other. It was quite the challenge not to spill a single drop. Unfortunately when he did, Mrs. Longbottom made him stand longer.

That was why Harry was very, very careful to mind his manners so that he would not lose an hour of broomstick flying with Neville.

"The appeals case for Sirius Black has just begun," Mrs. Longbottom said shrewdly to them. "Already Albus Dumbledore has provided irrefutable evidence that Peter Pettigrew is still very much alive. However, Lucius Malfoy has brought out all the old witnesses. I expect that it'll be a long, drawn-out affair."

Harry nodded acknowledging her words, but didn't say what he thought or ask any questions since she hadn't given them permission to speak. How could they even be holding a trial without Sirius Black on hand?

"When his Judgment of Absolution comes, Black will likely file a motion to adopt you, dear," Mrs. Longbottom said severely, ignoring Harry's unasked question. "My lawyers are prepared to fight for joint custody."

Why did she think that Black was innocent? Had she seen the proof in Harry's mind when he thought of his godfather? Why would Mrs. Longbottom want to have joint custody? Biting the inside of his cheek before he asked any of the questions dying to slip out of his mouth, Harry nodded slightly again. He continued to eat in the most polite manner he'd ever managed in his entire life.

"Sirius Black has no children of his own to pass the Black inheritance to, so his godson would be his next best option. The state of his mind after spending twelve years in Azkaban will likely be unsuitable to raise you." She primly wiped her lips and set her napkin down. That was the sign for the two boys to stop eating. "Well, I've enjoyed this, dears. Be ready for lunch to be served at noon." The moment she stood, Neville and Harry also stood.

"We await our next meal with you, milady," Harry said softly in a gentleman's voice, no matter how ridiculous he thought he sounded.

Mrs. Longbottom nodded and then exited the room as the clock struck ten.

Once she had gone, Harry sighed and flopped back into his chair without caring about his posture. He took his bowl and began to slurp the creamy porridge down without the spoon. Eating so slowly always left him ravenous!

"Good going, Harry. That's the first time Gran's not given you the buckets."

Finishing off the porridge, Harry grabbed three pieces of toast and chomped then down. After that, he began to suck down sweet segments of mandarin oranges directly from the center dish. Then he took a great swig of water to wash it all down. "We don't have tutoring today. Ready to fly more?"

"Yeah!"

"Race you out!" Harry was up in a flash, bolting out the door. Neville laughed, chasing after him. They sprang out the front door, scooping up the Cleansweep 5 brooms—Harry grabbed the worn-out Quaffle too—and hopped up into the air on the borrowed broom. Neville hovered above the three hedges that were considered to be the goal posts.

"Ready?" Harry called out.

"Ready!" Neville said excitedly.

Harry pushed the old broom to its limit, darting around the Longbottom Manor at a rather leisure pace. Immediately he swung himself upside-down as if a Bludger had nearly sailed right into him.

"Sloth Grip Roll!" Neville cried out eagerly from his Keeper Position.

Now, Harry zigzagged across the lawn in unpredictable patterns, imagining that he was dodging opponents.

"Wollongong Shimmy!" Neville called out.

Harry raced forward and darted up; Neville hovered right over the top of the hedge and smacked the ball back.

"That's a foul, Neville!" Harry caught the ball easily. "You can't sit inside the hoop to prevent a goal; it's called flacking!"

"Oh, sorry. You get a penalty then."

Harry flew to the center of the lawn and spun the broom around, gaining momentum. Braking suddenly, he released the ball and then Neville executed a beautiful Starfish and Stick, kicking the Quaffle back at him. "Nice work!" Harry yelled excitedly at him.

"You think so?" Neville said, still hanging by a hand and a hooked foot over the old broom as if he'd been born on the Cleansweep.

Harry rushed into the scoring area, while Neville hung from his broom and shot the Quaffle over the rightmost hedge. "You just lost ten points to the other team."

Neville swung his body around and re-mounted his broom. "That was hardly sporting, Harry," he said petulantly.

"Oh, I'm much nicer than anybody else you're likely to play."

They switched places and it was Harry's turn to block while Neville zigzagged and rolled on his broom. He was never far off the ground, only ten feet or so, but it was a marked improvement to when their feet were barely clearing stalks of grass. As soon as Neville's confidence improved, his shakes and tremors had stopped.

Harry thought the Starfish and Stick technique was rather slow and had been trying a vertical variation that wouldn't require one's broom to remain horizontal. He found it quite difficult since the broom desperately wanted to shoot straight up when pointed in that direction and the last thing Harry wanted was to perform a Starfish without Stick. He'd read about Keepers suffering awful injuries from the fall. He, however, was beginning to believe that the broom was charmed to fly 'up' when pointed in that direction.

They switched positions several more times before Dobby appeared below them.

"Masters Harry and Neville! Din-din's almost ready. Dobby is to tell the young Masters that the Mistress requires that Masters are freshened up and clothes changed. Dobby put out Muggle dress robes in the Masters' bedroom." With a happy smile, Dobby bowed and disappeared with a snap.

Giving each other a look, the brothers ran to the front door and dropped the brooms and Quaffle on the stone steps outside. Stomping upstairs, they quickly took turns showering.

When Harry left the bathroom, Neville's hands were nearly bound up in the long, reddish-gold Muggle tie. Harry went over to help him with it, since Mrs. Longbottom had only showed them how to tie it once. Neville was absolute bollocks at anything unless he'd practiced it fifty times.

Harry looped it over, under, and through, tightening it. "There," Harry said, patting Neville's tie into his waistcoat. Then Harry began to pull on and button up his own crisp, long-sleeved shirt while Neville combed his hair and snapped cufflinks on.

Neville looked at the clock anxiously. "Harry—"

"I've got it, Neville." His brother would just slow him down. Harry finished tying his green necktie and clipped it to the shirt beneath. He was slipping the buttons through the holes on his waistcoat in a relaxed, but quick manner. He turned to grab the outer robes, but saw that Neville was holding them up with a wry grin. Uncomplaining, Harry slipped his arms through.

They were dressed in a matching set of velvet tuxedo-like robes. Harry's was deep forest green, while Neville's was the color of burgundy wine. The only stylistic difference that Harry could see between them was that Neville's had a high collar on his jacket like a vicar's. A silk waistcoat and an old-fashioned long-sleeved white shirt beneath it nicely complemented the jacket and trousers. Without any frills, the sleeves of the jacket were actually fitted into cuffs, but the coat-tails hung down to the backs of their knees. Harry wondered why Dobby had called them Muggle dress robes.

"We're supposed to wear this to the match?" It seemed odd that they weren't dressed casually.

"Muggle clothing _is_ very odd. Not very exciting," Neville said as he looked over Harry's shoulder at the mirror. Harry gave Neville's reflection a puzzled look.

"But you look good in anything," Neville's mirror self said.

Neville grinned at himself.

Taking the comb Neville held out, Harry combed his hair down as much as it would allow. Neville clipped the cufflinks on the cuff surrounding Harry's free hand, and Harry switched hands so Neville could do the other while the Boy-Who-Lived painstakingly attempted to part his hair in a manner that would be met with Mrs. Longbottom's approval.

The Matriarch had once made him put Stiffening gel in his hair to keep it flat, but his hair had spiked itself upright during lunch months ago and flung a gob of hair gel into a tureen of clam bisque. Ever since, Harry was told to comb it and nothing else.

"You look amazing, sir," Harry's mirror image said when Harry peered closer at his hair. Harry dropped the comb onto the vanity, fiddling with the cuffs to make them more comfortable. "Thanks."

Above the door of their room, a cuckoo clock flung its doors open; the small, wooden yellow finch perched on its stand wheezed airily, "You'll be late if you don't hurry downstairs."

Without comment, they jogged down the hallway and stopped short of the stairwell. They each adjusted their jackets and double-checked the cuff links at their sleeves. Neville, being old-hat at this, strolled down the stairs in his most regal manner.

"Master Neville Lawrence Longbottom, only Heir to the illustrious Longbottom family, enters the dining room, milady," Dobby announced loftily.

"Good afternoon, Grandmother," Neville said, executing a perfect courtly bow. He took a seat.

Harry took a deep breath, hoping he didn't blow this. Chin up, head and shoulders back, he slid his hand down the bannister, doing his best to move in an elegant manner.

"Master Harry James Potter, Blood-Ward of the Longbottoms and last Scion of the eminent Potter family, enters the dining room, milady."

Harry was careful to keep his lips in a pleasant smile, not too broad, but not too pursed. He bowed, taking up the Matriarch's bejeweled hand, and dropped a light kiss, neither short nor sloppy, on her first knuckle. "An honor, my lady."

She nodded in approval and Harry very carefully released her hand, bowing once more. He sat down at the seat across from Neville.

Mrs. Longbottom cleared her throat, and Harry immediately corrected his posture without the noisy, impolite sigh that always agitated the woman. "Very good, gentlemen. Right on time," she said just as the nearest clock struck twelve.

Immediately their plates filled with a delicious appetizer, and they began their entirely too-tedious meal.

By the end of it, Harry wished he could cast a Cooling Charm on himself. The velvet suit was much too warm for his general comfort. On the other hand, focusing on his discomfort was the only reason why he'd been able to deal with Mrs. Longbottom's prattling about the illustrious lineage of the Notts. Apparently creating a guide on Dark Creatures was not the only reason why they were infamous. A wizard by the name of Cantankerous Nott had meticulously ferreted out the pedigrees of many upstanding Wizarding families in the 1600s. The Potters were among those families kicked out from the many circles of Wizarding high society simply for having lineage that wasn't 'pure'. What was left was twenty-eight families, known as the Sacred Twenty-Eight—the term Sally-Anne had used with Harry only a few months ago. The Longbottoms were one of them.

"An excellent meal, Grandmother," Neville said without sounding like he was mocking her.

"Yes, it was." She placed the napkin down, and they stood up simultaneously. "Our guests will be arriving shortly. Escort me, Neville."

"As you wish, Grandmother." Neville walked around the table and offered an arm to her. The aged woman gently laid her arm atop his, and they walked to the drawing room together. Mourning that he wouldn't be able to tuck in more food, Harry grabbed a couple of rolls and stuck them in a pocket. Behind the two, Harry was careful not to step on the train of Mrs. Longbottom's luxurious, golden-yellow silk dress. It had fleur-de-lis embroidered with gold-thread into every inch of it; actual gold-hued peacock feathers rimmed the high collar of her long-sleeved dress. It was no longer looking as moth-eaten and faded as it once had when Harry had first seen her wear it last year. He suspected that Dobby had something to do with it.

Neville helped his grandmother sit down on a sitting couch, and then the two fourteen-year-olds sat down on either side of her behind the small, round table in the drawing room. Ever since Dobby had come to Longbottom Manor, every room in the place had been cleaned and aired out regularly, injecting life into what might have otherwise been a drab and dreary place.

Back straight and head up, Harry kept his eyes on the fireplace where a fire was merrily burning away several logs. He'd only ever seen Floo magic in action once and that was last year...

"Be gentle with these suits, dears. You will need them later in the year," Mrs. Longbottom said with a stern tone.

"May I ask what event we will be attending, Grandmother?" Neville always managed to speak politely without sounding rude. It was probably why Harry hadn't been allowed to ask questions.

"That is not for me to tell you," she said and then opened her fan agitatedly in her hand.

The Notts were a minute away from being late, and the worse thing to do was keep Mrs. Longbottom waiting.

The clock chimed, and Mrs. Longbottom slammed her fan shut. "How inconsiderate—"

Suddenly, green fire burst out from the fireplace, causing Harry to jerk back in surprise. In the flame's wake, four soot-covered figures stood: Mr. Nott, Lupin, Theodore, and Hermione. Mr. Nott took out a wand and waved it over the four of them, and they were instantly shades lighter. Resembling bodyguards the Notts were dressed in black Muggle suits, while Lupin was wearing his usual dull-colored and shabby Muggle suit. Harry's ex-professor looked healthier; his once-pale skin now sported a dark tan and he looked at ease. The cheerful Theodore had bulked up some, looking a bit less stringy.

Hermione was wearing an airy, lilac dress that hung down to her knees and a tiny trinket on the end of a silver chain about her neck. Her bushy hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her features had softened further over the summer. She looked very pleased to be there, though her eyes were scanning the room with intense curiosity. She sent Harry a small smile, whereas Theodore didn't even look at Harry as he smiled fondly at Mrs. Longbottom.

"Augusta," the old, grandfatherly man said, "I terribly regret our tardiness. We were delayed by Ministry officials due to their suspicion of one of our party." Mr. Nott's eyes drifted purposefully towards Lupin, whose shoulders hunched inwardly some, before Theodore sharply jabbed a spot in his lower back. No longer hunched, the older werewolf gave him an unamused frown.

"It's ridiculous," Hermione said loftily, "to delay us because Mr. Lupin's a registered werewolf. I think—" She cut her angry rant off when Theodore nudged her with a gentle elbow. She immediately went silent, looking at the floor and twisting her fingers together.

"_I think_ it's good they hadn't delayed us longer than they had," Theodore said with a catty grin. "Don't you, Mrs. Longbottom?"

The moment Neville's grandmother stood up, Harry and Neville stood up as well. The three wizards bowed deeply towards the Longbottom Matriarch, while Hermione curtsied effortlessly.

"Yes, I imagine with the Quidditch World Cup, security is much tighter," Mrs. Longbottom finally said and their guests straightened. "I extend a proud welcome to our humble manor, Prah, and to your son and guests as well." Closed fan in hand, she curtsied in a very dignified manner. Harry hurriedly bowed when he saw Neville lean forward.

Theodore barely muffled a snicker. Harry shot him a glare. Hermione's eyes were darting between them but she didn't say anything. Neville managed the best bow between them. As soon as Neville straightened, Harry did as well.

"Thank you for the welcome, milady," Lupin said graciously.

Mrs. Longbottom sniffed in response, snapping her fan open to flap it in her face.

"Milady, I have said before that I much prefer my middle name," Mr. Nott said, drawing Neville's grandmother from her long stare at Lupin.

"Of course. I'd forgotten your preference, Bailey."

"Shall we head outside…?" The grey-haired man asked softly.

"Yes, that would please me."

The old witch offered her arm to Mr. Nott and was escorted out the room. At his grandmother's pointed look when she passed, Neville offered an arm to Hermione, who hesitantly placed her arm on top of his. The four swept out the room as if it had been staged.

Theodore gave Harry a look-over. "How long have you been prancing around like that?"

Harry rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. He was smart enough to keep his manners about him with Mrs. Longbottom's abnormally sharp ears.

"He looks nice," Lupin commented.

The younger werewolf laughed. "I bet that suit chafes. Doesn't it, Harry?"

With a mischievous look, Harry bowed in a courtly manner and then offered an arm. "Do you need an escort, milord?"

Playing along, Theodore covered his mouth and tittered. "Oh, yes, Mr. Potter." Then, despite the fact Harry sent him a short-lived glare, his friend delicately placed his arm atop Harry's.

"You were supposed to laugh, not agree to be escorted," Harry hissed under his breath.

Theodore laughed politely against the back of his hand. "You've certainly learned how to be a gentleman under Mrs. Longbottom's guidance," he said with a lofty tone.

Their ex-DADA professor cleared his throat in a hurried manner, looking about the richly decorated living room. "As amusing as your antics are, Harry, I doubt you'd want to walk out like that."

"Oh pishposh! Let him have fun, Uncle Remy," Theodore said, allowing himself to be led after masterfully turning Harry toward the door.

With deliberately orchestrated steps of elegance, Harry glided them out of the room and towards the open front door, holding Theodore's arm up as if he were a lady.

"What precisely are you doing?" The Matriarch said archly when Harry and Theodore came down the front steps. Her eyes, normally sharp and unreadable, sparkled with barely contained humor.

Amusement was the last thing Harry had expected. "My Lady, I merely performed my gentlemanly duty as escort." His lips quirked as Theodore drew his hand away.

"Smooth," Theodore said under his breath without moving his lips and then pulled away, stepping towards the two adults. He brought his hands up, clasping them together in an imploring manner. "I apologize that I have taken such bold liberties with the newest member to your family, milady. I was overcome with excitement to be here visiting a very _close_ friend I have not seen since the end of school term."

Harry bit down on his inner cheek as laughter bubbled up from his chest from Theodore's dramatics. Neville was gaping at the both of them with what looked like shock. Hermione's eyebrows had lifted to the middle of her forehead, while her face scrunched into a confused look.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Longbottom lifted an eyebrow at the old wizard, who showed no particular interest in his son's antics. "Make sure you are not… _overcome_ again, young Nott. There is a measure of decorum that must be maintained out in public," Mrs. Longbottom said. She turned to Nott's da, "We should move along before it gets much later."

From a small black pouch, Mr. Nott withdrew a long pewter gray shower rod. He lifted an arm to check the time using a Muggle timepiece strapped to his wrist. "Come around everyone. It will activate shortly."

The three adults and four teenagers converged around the Nott Patriarch. Everyone leaned forward to grab a bit of the shower rod. In moments, a hook took hold of Harry by the navel and all seven of them were spinning around in a swirl of color.


	2. The Gallant Losers

_**Author's Notes: **This is such a long chapter. Most of the chapters aren't like this.  
_

_**20-06-2014 Edit:** Saw a small error with the scoring. Fixed._

* * *

Seconds later, they touched down gently. Harry looked around, rather disoriented as to where they were. There was the strong smell of fish and saltwater… were they near the sea? At least it was much cooler.

"Thirty-eight past one from Longbottom Manor," a voice said.

They had arrived at what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles though ineptly. The wizard with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague a kilt and poncho.

Mr. Nott silently handed the shower rod to the kilted wizard who tossed it into a large box of used Portkeys. Harry could see an old worn out boot, an old newspaper, an empty drinks can, and a punctured football among a whole pile of junk.

"Staying only for the day, then?" The wizard in the tweed suit asked them.

"Yes, only for the match and then we'll be off by Apparation," Lupin responded.

"Ah," his colleage said and then glanced at his shabby attire. "Would you be the werewolf of the party? If so, need to see your papers."

"Yes, I have them right here," the adult said, pulling a thick roll of papers with official looking seals from a pouch hanging from his shoulder. "Run along, Harry, Theo. I'll catch up in no time."

"Right," Theodore said, and they caught up with the rest of their group already meters ahead.

Walking regally, Mrs. Longbottom was still on Mr. Nott's arm, while Neville and Hermione were a step ahead of the elders.

"Welcome to the venue of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch World Cup," Theodore said. "Quaint village, isn't it?"

Nodding, Harry looked about, curious about their location. They were obviously in a Muggle community, since Muggle bystanders were gawking at their choice of clothing. "We're dressed to try to blend in?"

"Yes. To be honest, most Muggles think we're going to some costume ball in the woods." Theodore waved at the densely foggy area to their right. "But we aren't actually going there."

Harry peered more closely and the fog seemed to come apart into fine mist. He saw that in the distance there was a whole village of tents. "Why?"

"Do you fancy walking through a small city of tents? I certainly don't. A hundred thousand people are packed together over there, all brimming full of energy for the match. No doubt that there are pickpockets and pranksters, too."

Even with his friend's dismissal, the tents beyond looked rather interesting and small among the figures milling about. Harry could hear the sound of fiddles being played...

"You look like you want to go check it out," Theodore whispered conspiratorially.

"Harry, dear, you don't need to associate with that sort of riffraff," Mrs. Longbottom's voice called out ahead of them.

Theodore's eyebrows quirked in surprise as he looked forward. He gestured towards the Matriarch and then pointed at his ears.

Harry nodded, sighing.

His friend patted his shoulder. "There, there. You're not missing much anyway. Just paltry magical trinkets you've never seen before."

"Oh, that doesn't make me want to go at all," Harry said with a slight glare.

"And I'm sure there are Hogwarts students we know, at this very instant co-mingling with one another, placing bets… nor would I be surprised if students from Durmstrang, Beauxbatons, or the Salem Witches' Institute were here…"

"What?" Harry asked feeling rather stupid about the last part.

There came a soft scoff. "I know you mainly study hexes and curses, but you should brush up on some basic knowledge known to the average witch or wizard." A pale hand was flung out towards the tents. "What I listed are the top schools in Bulgaria, France, and the United States, though it's a bit fuzzy about where precisely the first two are."

"Oh." They'd entered a forest now and followed a very wide path for twenty minutes. Theodore told Harry a little bit of trivia about each of the schools. All three were co-habited by either gender, and that each of them had a specialty much like how Hogwarts was known for its students trained in Transfigurations and Potions. Finally, there was a lull in the influx of information; Harry could hear waves crashing to the left of them and growing louder. They were obviously somewhere near a sea bank.

"So, you're doing alright? With Lupin mentoring you?"

His friend's grin was broad. "Yeah, he's a great teacher. I won't lie and say it's been easy, but it certainly isn't as bad as I expected." He leaned closer. "The transition—"

"Transition?"

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin, having expected Lupin. "Draco, you prat. What're you doing here?"

"To watch the Quidditch World Cup. Where've you been?" The Malfoy heir gave him a condescending look and tsked. "Oh, that's right. Ignoring my mirror-calls."

"You could have sent me a letter instead," Harry said, knowing very well that Draco's father wouldn't have allowed that.

Draco's lips pressed together, and then he looked at the both of them with narrowed eyes. "Well. I see Theodore has succeeded where I have failed."

"What?" Harry said for the second time in the past ten minutes, feeling like a complete idiot.

"Jealous, Draco?" Theodore jeered.

Wait… Jealous? Harry frowned. Surely Draco wasn't jealous of Harry's friendship with Theodore?

"_Hardly_. I only need to wait until you royally strike out so that he can benefit from someone with more experience," Draco sneered.

"Even if I did—which won't happen—you _are not_ his type."

"How do you know what his type is?" As they walked, Draco gave Harry an appraising look-over. "I wager you haven't made it past the kissing phase with him."

Harry halted in the sea breeze and surrounded by trees in the largely empty forest lane. "Stop talking, you bloody prat," he said with atypical harshness, his face hot from anger. "I'm _not_ dating Theo, you idiot. I don't even _like_ blokes."

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled behind them; they too were wearing black suits.

"Ah," Draco said, while Theodore was shooting Harry a worried look. "Judging by Theo's reaction, I can see neither of you want others to know." Draco's expression turned more gleeful. "I could keep this a secret… for a favor."

"Take your bleeding _favors_ and go dive off a cliff. There's one right over there." Harry pointed to the left in case the bastard missed it. Then he began to walk again. "Come on, Theo." His friend seemed to flinch a little under Harry's gaze. "Why is it that everyone wearing black? Is there a funeral I've missed?" Theodore couldn't stifle his laughter. Harry grimaced. "It's not funny."

"Sorry," Theodore said, not looking sincere.

Answering smugly to Harry's right, Draco raised an arm to gesture towards himself and the others. "We of Pureblood know that black silk is the fashion of the day." He reached forward, plucking nonexistent lint off Harry's shoulder, "And that crushed velvet hasn't been in style since the Dark Ages."

"How I've missed your unpleasant jibes," Harry said with a tone laced with sarcasm, stepping to the other side of Theodore. He addressed his friend again. "Honestly, I would have liked to wear a shirt and denim trousers instead."

"Harry Potter, keeping it classy." Theodore flourished his hands towards Harry's attire. "I can just imagine the reviews on the fashion page of the _Daily Prophet_ now. 'Boy-Who-Lived Sparks New Muggle Fashion Movement With Affordable Fabrics!' "

"Shut it, you git," Harry said and shoved him playfully. He froze for a moment and then dropped his arms. "Sorry, I overstepped myself."

Theodore blinked at him with a puzzled expression and then grinned. "No offense taken. I guess Neville is very hands-on with you?" He casually slung an arm around Harry's neck.

Throwing off the arm, Harry glanced towards the smirking blond and his two henchmen, who were pretending not to watch. "Don't take any more _bold liberties_ with me or I won't be able to convince anyone that we _aren't_ dating," Harry retorted.

Theodore only grinned.

"Very nice work on Longbottom," Draco said with obnoxious pomposity, changing the subject. Harry ignored him.

"I thought so too," Theodore said, "Did you put him on a diet?"

"No. It's regular exercise I think."

"You're training someone up for the Gryffindor team, aren't you?" Theodore waggled his eyebrows. "Worried the Slytherin Team won't be kept on its toes without any good teams to play?"

Shaking his head, Harry glanced towards his blood-brother who was still arm-in-arm with Hermione many meters ahead of them. "Honestly, if he's good anywhere, it'd be as Keeper."

"I think we ought to break his legs before we find out," Draco said lowly.

Sidestepping Theodore, Harry feigned punching Draco in the face, and he stumbled back, clutching his face. Draco was blinking a second later when he realized his nose wasn't broken. "Get back, you oafs. I'm fine!" Crabbe and Goyle obediently stepped back.

"Transylvanian Tackle. I've perfected it this summer," Harry said casually, shaking his fist as he began to walk down the path once more. "And if I find out you've bullied Neville this year, you _will_ be sorry."

"I was joking! Honestly, you think I would hurt someone you care about?" Draco clutched his nose looking sullen.

"Yes," Theodore and Harry answered together.

"Given the right motivation," Harry added at the hurt look on Draco's scowling face. "You've got a ruthless decisiveness. I often spend too much time mulling over my options."

"A picky eater, eh?" came the unlikely jibe from Crabbe. Goyle snorted and began to laugh boisterously. The gaggle of adults in front of them paused, Lupin—and Mr. Malfoy, surprisingly—among them, and the Longbottom Matriarch glanced back at them with a very cross look; the two enormous teens quickly shut up.

Hearing that the crash of waves had grown louder, Harry sighed and looked off towards the sea that had appeared on the left of them. Neville and Hermione to the front of their procession looked far more inviting than hanging around his fellow Slytherins. The Gryffindors didn't tease him nearly as badly or as often.

"Shall we explain the joke, your Grace?" Theodore gave him a more serious look.

"Do you really want to spoil his boyhood innocence so early?" Draco countered arrogantly. "Perhaps his Grace is merely a late bloomer."

"You only say that because you want to corrupt him first," Theodore said with a wicked grin.

"I hardly think you'll be able to seduce—"

"I'm not that stupid, you twits, so the both of you will _shut up_ because I am _not _dating Theodore and have no designs to do so in the future," Harry said with a tone of finality. He quickened his pace to a light jog and caught up with the group walking far ahead of them. He passed by the adults, not missing the way that Draco's father looked at him, like a pesky bug to be stepped on. Despite Mr. Malfoy beside him, Lupin looked angry, but unintimidated.

"Stay with our group," came the old witch's voice.

Harry turned and bowed slightly as he slowed to a sideways walk. "Of course, my lady."

Mrs. Longbottom resumed asking questions about Mr. Nott's travels in Tasmania. Her escort still held her arm in a gentlemanly fashion; Harry's arm would have tired out ages ago. Harry hastened to get ahead of the adults to where Neville and Hermione were chatting about the upcoming school year.

"Harry! Glad you could join us," Hermione said with unfeigned happiness. She glanced over her shoulder and when she looked back to the front she made a slightly disgusted face.

Neville swung his head around to see what she had seen. "What is it?"

"I can guess why Malfoy's father is talking to Professor—to Mr. Lupin." Harry's brother was still looking back with a confused expression. "Never mind that, Neville. I think you'd be more interested that your grandmother might be looking to remarry."

"_What_?"

"She and Nott's dad are _flirting_. Don't tell me you haven't noticed? Besides, Theodore alluded to that possibility after I arrived from my parent's house."

Harry tried not to make a face. He was certainly not about to tell them about the recent teasing by Theodore and Draco.

"Oh… _Oh_. Yeah, that makes sense. Gran's been lonely for as long as I can remember," said the other teen. "But, 'Mione, she swore she wouldn't marry another old wizard. They have a tendency of dropping dead around her like my grandfather."

"Ah. Well, maybe she'll change her mind," Hermione said thoughtfully and then she turned to Harry with a very blank expression while they continued to walk at a leisurely pace. "Harry… you know Neville and I are non-judgmental about who you date—"

Harry could not suppress the annoyed scoff. When he saw that they both were giving him a look, he ground out, "I swear on my life that we aren't dating. It was only a bit of fun between friends."

"But I've never seen you with girls," Neville said, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Because I'm not interested," Harry said flatly. "I don't have time to deal with a girlfriend. Besides, who knows what this year is going to bring me. I'm better off without."

"Oh. … So, you would have a girlfriend if you weren't falling into trouble frequently?" Hermione asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

Harry shrugged.

"Then, you'd go out with Ginny? Or maybe Sally-Anne?"

He blinked at her. "I haven't thought about it." He glanced at Neville who still looked a bit confused. "What now, Neville?"

"I'm not you, but even with all the trouble in the world I'd still want a girlfriend. I mean, don't you want to kiss them?" His brother smiled at Hermione, whose face turned a little pink as she looked away.

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. Was this what he had to look forward to as he got older? Constantly getting badgered about finding a partner? "Girls are nice, but I really don't see what the fuss is about."

"Oh. … Not even a little kiss?" Neville asked curiously.

"Not even a little," Harry repeated.

"Then you like blokes," Neville said simply.

"_No_, Neville." Harry closed his eyes, counting to three as he took a deep breath. Sometimes his brother had trouble _listening_. "Just because I don't want to kiss a girl, doesn't mean I want to kiss a boy. Really, kissing is about the last thing I'd want to do with anyone. Not with Voldemort breathing down my neck every year."

Neville made that little noise he always did when he heard the 'V' name. Harry tried not to get irritated.

Hermione frowned, giving Harry a look. "What about afterwards? Don't you want to be with someone? Get married and have a family?"

"No, not really…" He was fourteen. Growing up and having kids never came to mind. Harry mostly thought of Quidditch and homework and living until he was ninety-nine at least. Why would he care about _kissing_? "You can't expect me to enjoy mashing my lips against someone else's when I've got more important things to think about."

His classmates looked quite confused at him.

"Things like surviving to adulthood?" When they gave him a strange look, he sighed.

"_Ah_," Hermione said biting her lower lip in thought. "I _think_ I understand. You want to spend all your energies on the present instead of worrying about what hasn't come yet."

"_Yes_." At least somebody seemed to understand him.

"But it's not really so bad," Neville insisted.

"_You've_ kissed someone?" Hermione looked quite doubtful. Personally, Harry didn't appreciate the imagery of his brother kissing anyone. Flobberworms wrapped around one another in a slimy manner was not what Harry considered a good time.

"A gentleman never kisses and tells." Neville's face was much pinker than Hermione's had been. "Anyway, it's nice. So, don't think it's terrible just because it looks unpleasant."

"_Nice_ to have someone stick their tongue in my mouth? I think I'd bite it off if someone tried," Harry said, wishing they would get bored with the topic. At least, they were nearly to the end of the forest.

"I suppose on an aesthetic level it does look quite vile, but I can't imagine it's so awful if people enjoy it so much," Hermione said with a clinical tone.

Obviously they were not going to get bored with talk of snogging any time soon. "I would rather talk about the upcoming game."

They emerged from the treeline and moved into the cool shadow of a gigantic silver stadium. Though Harry could only see a fraction of it, he knew it would easily be able to hold several cathedrals. He'd been to one before when he was very small… one of the only class trips he'd been allowed to go on, since he'd managed to not do anything _odd _for once…

"So," Hermione said, "Viktor Krum is ranked as the best Seeker in the International Quidditch League."

"Yes, and he's got a mind for strategy. I read his book on Seeking. If you want, I'll let you borrow it."

"I'd love that, thanks. I need some more books for leisure reading, and I've always meant to learn more about Quidditch because, you know." She suddenly looked quite distracted, pushing a flyaway hair behind her ear. "Because everyone else knows so much about it."

"You're excited about the match between Ireland and Bulgaria then?"

"Of course, I am," Hermione said with a semi-affronted tone, "Otherwise, I would have stayed home."

Then Neville began to excitedly list off the stats of each team, all of which Harry already knew since they had researched the teams together.

The late afternoon sun was slanting over stadium. There weren't any wizards and witches waiting outside the entrance. The trio waited until the others caught up. Mr. Malfoy had vanished, but Draco and his two lackeys had remained. As usual, Draco and Theodore were quietly quarrelling about something; Harry briefly wondered if it was about him and then immediately hoped they weren't really.

"Prime seats!" said the witch checking the tickets that Mr. Nott handed her. "Top Box. Straight upstairs, midmost floor."

Draco provided three tickets to the clerk as Harry and the others moved up the stairs, which were carpeted in rich purple. Harry's group was the only one climbing the stairs. Once they reached the correct level, they walked forward into a spacious room with thirty-six purple-and-gilt chairs in three rows on either side of an enormous aisle splitting them down the center. Harry looked out and saw that they were eye level with the goal posts without anything obstructing their view.

Harry took a seat in the middle front left row, amazed. Rows upon rows of stands were crammed together in a cluttered fashion. He leaned forward, seeing that from this distance the oval field looked as smooth as the velvet jacket he wore. Craning his head up, he saw a great blackboard, easily the size of a double-decker bus. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant's hand were scrawling across it and then wiping it clean.

"You gawk like a country bumpkin, Harry," Draco said to his right. Neville had taken a seat on Harry's left, Hermione beside Neville.

"How many professional Quidditch matches have you gone to?" Harry said with reproach.

"I can't remember. Probably thousands."

"There you go," Harry said gesturing towards the pitch. "This is my first one. Don't ruin it."

"Then I suppose I'll give you these…" Draco offered a pack with two soft cylindrical objects that looked suspiciously like ear plugs. "I won't need them since the veela won't have any effect on me."

"Have any more?" Neville was looking hopefully over Harry's shoulder.

"I'm all out." A disgusted look flickered over Draco's features as Hermione leaned forward with a pack in her hand.

"Theo gave me a pack of ear plugs, Neville, but I've read all about veela. They won't have an effect on me." The bushy-haired Gryffindor passed it to the Longbottom heir.

"Is there a concession stand?" Harry asked. He was feeling a bit hungry.

Draco raised a hand and snapped. A very timid-looking house-elf barely taller than their chests gazed up at him cautiously. She was wearing a fluffy, blue bath towel like a toga. A gold rope bound her outfit up in the middle.

"Zippy, bring us some snacks."

"R-right away, Master Dra-raco." The house-elf disappeared with a crack.

"That poor thing," Hermione was saying loudly to Neville, "Enslaved to the Malfoy family. No wonder it stammers."

"You have a house-elf?" Harry lifted an eyebrow at Draco. House-elves couldn't come cheap, or Draco's father would have replaced Dobby.

"My father decided it was time that I had my own," the other Slytherin said, appearing to ignore Hermione's remarks. "Zippy's always had that stammer. It's probably why father got her so cheaply."

Suddenly uneasy, Harry glanced around and saw that they were the only ones in the Top box. Harry had this horrible suspicion that elderly Mr. Nott and Mrs. Longbottom might have gone off to neck somewhere… and then he realized something else as he looked towards Crabbe and Goyle, who squirmed under his gaze.

Seated directly behind Harry with Lupin in the seat to the right of him, Theodore blinked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." Harry narrowed his eyes at the blond prat seated next to him.

"Oh," Draco whispered as if he only just realized that Harry was still nervous about his father being around and then smirked. "Don't worry. You're not even old enough to claim your birthright as head of the Potter line. No point in making the feud public until you're of equal status…"

"Why?" Harry thought there was probably some political reason behind it.

Draco leaned a bit closer, "You see, people would want to know what you'd done to offend my father so terribly. There'd be a scandal."

"_Oh_." Well, that worked to Harry's benefit if Lucius Malfoy was keeping the slight against him hushed up. The last thing he wanted was someone else to make an extraordinary effort to make his life in the Wizarding world a hellish existence.

"What are you two talking about?" Neville's eyes were twinkling with curiosity.

"Probably nothing that they want to share with the rest of us, Neville. How much longer before the game begins?" Hermione leaned back to look at Theodore. Crabbe gave her a disgusted look, while Goyle maintained a halfway cordial expression.

Lupin waved his wand and glowing numbers appeared. "Hour, hour and a half, give or take a few."

"And why did we get here so early?" She looked as exasperated as Harry felt.

"Gran said to avoid the rabble," Neville supplied. "She doesn't much care for people who aren't…"

"Who aren't what? Pureblood?"

Neville flushed. "Unless they prove themselves."

"Like any proper magical person worth their salt," Draco said airily.

"I think blood purism is nonsense," Hermione shot back.

"Of course you would, Granger. It's in your best interest to believe that."

"And it's in your best interest to believe having pure blood means anything! Otherwise, what good would all that inbreeding do?" She scoffed.

"How dare you, you filthy—"

"_Magic is magic_," Harry said loudly over their argument. "It shouldn't matter whether you're descended from Merlin or a house-elf. So, shut up about it, the both of you. You're ruining the ambiance."

"_Ambiance_," Theodore snickered behind a hand.

"You shut up too," Harry said, his face growing hot.

"Harry, only blood-traitors and Muggle-borns believe that drivel," Draco inspected his nails.

"I didn't think your memory was so short that I'd have to remind you that Salazar Slytherin said it too."

"Come off it," Goyle said to Harry, "Slytherin, himself, not havin' any problems with Muggle in the blood? That's bollocks, that is."

"I _spoke_ to his portrait last year. I'm sorry that I haven't yet found his journals to put the controversy to rest," Harry grumbled. His classmates went silent with that reminder. Neither of the Gryffindors looked surprised; Hermione must've told Neville about it. Lupin, on the other hand, kept his gaze squarely fixed on Harry. Harry felt a bit uncomfortable by the attention.

"Slytherin's portrait?"

"Right, you wouldn't know," Harry said to the adult, "By chance, I woke up the Founder's portrait last year and he said the _only_ reason why he didn't like to teach Muggle-borns was that they're more likely to be murdered by their kin than Purebloods."

"Oh," Lupin said, giving Harry a very strange look.

"I thought you said Muggles weren't all savages," Draco said waspishly.

Hermione began irately, "They're _not—"_

"Our house's Founder lived nearly a thousand years ago," Harry interrupted, "Muggles _have_ become much more progressive in matters of crime and justice, and they don't allow child mistreatment any more than the magical world does. _And _a large amount of them don't even believe in magic so that cuts down on hate crimes against magical folk."

"Then, how come you were mistreated?" Harry really wished his brother hadn't brought it up.

"The Dursleys are different. They knew about magic because of my mother, but they didn't really understand it. In their minds, they thought they were doing me a favor, trying to take my magic away from me so I couldn't hurt anyone in the Muggle world," Harry said. At the sickened looks on their faces, Harry continued, "I don't suppose you've ever heard the adage: Spare the rod, spoil the child?"

"I have," Lupin said gruffly, "Muggle Studies class, seventh year. Comes from the Judeo-Christian faith tradition. Essentially, it's the idea that if you let a child run amok without any sort of consequences, then that child will grow into a spoiled, selfish individual."

"Yes, exactly. They saw my accidental magic as a form of misbehavior, so..." Harry gestured aimlessly.

"I shouldn't have asked you." Neville looked absolutely miserable.

"Neville, it's alright to be curious."

"But _taking away your magic_? That's impossible. They wanted you to do the impossible!" His voice cracked, and then he began to tremble.

With one arm, Harry gave him a large hug, something he'd gotten into a habit of doing whenever Neville was upset. "Yes, it was impossible by the way they were going about it. If only they had known that all they had to do was encourage me to use magic until my undeveloped magical channels burnt out."

"_Don't even joke about that_!" Neville wailed, clinging to him. Harry was surprised to see him in tears.

"Oh, quit your caterwauling, Longbottom. Obviously, Harry's gotten over it," Draco said tightly.

"It's still upsetting," Hermione said with a sharp tone, patting Neville on the back. "The neglect Harry's relatives put him through shouldn't have happened in this day and age. The Dursleys ought to be in jail for it. They were let off too lightly if you ask me."

Harry's brother pulled back wiping at his face frantically. He was hiccuping in a rather distressed manner that Harry had to pat his shoulder reassuringly.

"Can't now. They don't even remember who I am." Harry chuckled at that.

Draco had quite a nasty look on his face.

With a pop, Zippy reappeared with a gigantic tray above her head. It was filled with a large assortment of candies, pasties, pies, cakes, ice cream sandwiches, and numerous other delicious snacks. Harry picked up a lemon pasty and offered it to Neville, who took it and immediately took a large bite of it between sniffles. Then Harry said, "Thanks, Zippy."

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. The house-elf shrilly squeaked, setting the tray to float in front of them. She pulled the neck of her bath towel over her head like a turtle. Harry blinked. "Zippy, i-is ver-ry sor-r-ry, Har-r-ry P-p-p-po-t-t-ter."

"Hold on," Harry said, "You don't need to—" Draco raised a hand and lightly touched Harry's shoulder, shaking his head slightly.

With an even, calming tone, Draco ordered, "Very good, Zippy. Bring us something to drink."

"R-right away, M-m-master Dra-raco." The yellow-eyed house-elf disappeared.

"What've you done to that poor house-elf?" Hermione looked as if she might conjure a stick to beat the prat if he answered wrong.

"Zippy was removed from an abusive home," Draco said slowly as if she was five. "Any time _anyone_ expresses gratitude, the poor thing cowers. I would appreciate it if you didn't unnecessarily distress my house-elf again, Harry."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly and took a large bite of an ice cream sandwich. Hermione was blinking owlishly towards Draco, while Neville's eyes kept flicking between the two. Harry noticed that Theodore—and Lupin—stayed well out of the argument, which was likely the smartest option to avoid the ire of either the brightest fourth-year witch or the richest, snobbiest prat Harry had ever known.

"Granger," Draco said over his nails, like he was speaking to someone of very little importance, "I find myself unreasonably curious about how a community of supposedly nice Muggles where Harry lived didn't notice that he was malnourished?"

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it as if she was having second thoughts about answering.

"I was never taken to the doctor, you prat," Harry said. "Did those records about my mistreatment never mention that?" At Draco's blank look, he clarified, "A Muggle doctor is the equivalent of a Healer. I only ever saw the school nurse, who's really more like a mediwitch in the Muggle world—I think—and she believed the Dursleys and my teachers when they told her that I was a compulsive liar. She just thought I was exceptionally short and skinny. I didn't look starved."

"Ah. Surely _someone_ would have noticed the bruises and the broken nose…"

"Most of the attacks by Dudley and his gang happened _after_ school. When I would wake the next day, any evidence would be gone, which meant nothing to show anybody who might have taken me from the Dursleys. Muggles don't have diagnostic spells, and they expect things to heal over a long timeframe not overnight."

A sort of horrified silence descended around Harry. At least no one was looking at him as something to be pitied.

"Muggles should not be raising magical children," Draco said with resounding certainty.

Harry had the disturbing thought of legislation passing through the Ministry of Magic that required the removal of Muggle-borns from their families. "If anything, the Ministry should have sent someone to do a magical check-up to be sure nothing was amiss. Oh, and training videos on how to properly take care of magical children would help. I mean, a Muggle can't exactly go into a store and say, 'Yes, I would like an educational book on raising my magical child. These strange events keep occurring around them… I can't make any sense of it. Could you help me?' People would think they were mad."

"A valid point. Muggle parents of a magical child should be required to go through a certification process as well as pass the Magical Non-Aversion Inventory with high marks…"

"So long as it's free or heavily subsidized," Hermione interrupted. "You can't expect Muggles to be able to afford much, can you?"

Harry was surprised when Draco nodded with a thoughtful frown.

Zippy reappeared with the tray of drinks. Harry grabbed the pumpkin juice, nodding graciously at Zippy who looked at him fearfully but did not appear so distressed.

As the stadium filled up with people, a roar began to fill the air consistently like the crashing waves of the sea near the forest. Harry could not see anyone on the far side of the stadium, only splotches of black and red or green and white. There was a crack of Apparation behind Harry and another nervous looking house-elf now stood by the last chair on the second level closest to the door. She kept eyeing the edge of the Top Box with terror.

"Must be Crouch's house-elf," Draco said to Harry's ear. Harry shot him a look and Draco leaned back into his chair.

"Harry Potter! My boy, I haven't seen you since that dreadful business with those Muggles. How are you?" It was Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Many more witches and wizards were trickling in behind him. He had come down the steps of the center aisle and leaned over the two floating dishes that Zippy had brought, extending a hand. Harry reached forward and shook the hand without standing up from his seat.

"This is Harry Potter," Fudge told to each wizard on either side of him.

Standing, Harry reached forward and shook their hands. Draco rose as well, offering his hand to each of the three wizards and announcing his name. The wizards' attention turned to Draco.

Still seated, Neville made a small noise in the back of his throat as if someone had cast a Full-Body Bind on him, except that his joints remained bent. Hermione remained seated as well; she was watching the politicians with detached interest.

The wizard on Fudge's right, wearing green and white, nodded in understanding and with an Irish accent said, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Potter. I'm Connor Kirkpatrick, the Minister of Magic in Ireland. You must be a fan of the Irish team."

Harry looked down at himself—at the green-velvet jacket that had the barest silver trimming and white shirt—and realized that that wasn't necessarily a bad conclusion to make. "I must be, sir," Harry said. He grinned at the Irish Minister of Magic when he gave a hearty laugh in response.

The other wizard beside Fudge wore black velvet trimmed in burgundy. After ignoring Harry's offered hand and shaking Draco's, the heavyset and stocky wizard was looking around at the supports and down at the pitch with a bored expression.

"This is _Harry Potter_," Fudge said loudly at who must have been the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. The thickset man looked at Fudge blankly. He didn't seem to know a word of English nor did he seem to recognize Harry's name. "_Harry Potter_… oh come on now, you must know who he is… the boy who survived You-Know-Who? You know, survived the…" Fudge mimed the lightning shape on his forehead and pointed at Harry's head.

When the Bulgarian wizard spotted Harry's scar, he started gabbling loudly—in Bulgarian, Harry supposed—and excitedly jabbed a meaty forefinger at Harry's forehead as well. The manners that Mrs. Longbottom had hammered into Harry's head over the summer was the only thing that stopped him from smacking the Bulgarian Minister's hand away.

"Sorry about that," Fudge, mopping his face with a handkerchief, said to Harry sounding very embarrassed as the man beside him carried on. "This is Mr. Oblansk—Obalonsk—Mr.—well, he's the Bulgarian Minister of Magic."

"Hello," Harry said to him politely, and the Bulgarian Minister dropped his hand and stopped whatever he was saying. He bowed lightly in greeting and uttered something guttural; showing that at least he knew Harry was being friendly.

"We're charmed to make your acquaintance, Mr. Obalonski," Draco said dryly to the foreigner as if trying to cover his mirth.

The man shot Draco a dirty look.

"Where is Barty Crouch?" Fudge asked out loud. "He's much better at languages than I am. Ah! I see him now. Fantastic—" Fudge must have noticed someone even more important walk in because his attention had turned to them when he raised a hand to greet someone behind Harry. "Lucius! How lovely it is to see you."

Surprised, Harry turned and saw a tall, long-haired platinum blond, clutching his walking cane. Lucius Malfoy appeared at ease and didn't even glare at Harry when he saw him looking. "Ah, Fudge. How are you? You've met my son, Draco, have you?"

"Yes, of course, I met your son! He's the spitting image of you, Lucius. How could I miss him?"

"Everyone ready?" A portly man in yellow and black Quidditch robes with a wasp on the front bellowed. His round face was gleaming excitedly. "Minister—ready to go?"

"In a few moments, Ludo," Fudge said as he insisted to the visiting Ministers of Magic to take their seats. Lucius took one long blank look at Harry and sat on the other side of Draco, nearest to the center aisle. Harry immediately turned forward and picked up another treat from the small table in front of him. After a cursory nod and scowl to Lucius Malfoy who returned the greeting in like, Mrs. Longbottom had taken a seat beside Hermione.

Harry twisted in his seat and saw that Mr. Nott was already seated to the left of Theodore. A rather severe-looking wizard with a thick, boxy moustache took the last empty seat next to Mr. Nott; the nervous house-elf asked the wizard in a bowler cap if he might want anything, and the wizard shook his head.

"Ready, Ludo," the British Minister of Magic cheerfully called.

The fat wizard raised his wand, and suddenly bright lights beamed upon the both of them.

Stepping to the very front of the window-less box, the British Minister of Magic directed his wand at his throat and placed it against his voice box, "_Sonorus_!" He cast.

"Welcome, welcome!" His voice boomed as if amplified by speakers. "As British Minister of Magic, it gives me great pleasure to welcome each and every one of you to the Final of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!" The Minister's voice spoke over the roar of the crowd, booming into every corner of the stands.

The screaming and clapping was nearly deafening.

"Now, without further ado, allow me to introduce… the Bulgarian Team Mascots!"

"Ear plugs in!" Draco said loudly next to Harry. Harry popped them out of the package, nudging Neville in the side and miming him to do the same.

Ear plugs firmly in place, Harry leaned forward as a hundred beautiful women glided onto the field… except they couldn't be human if they were Team Mascots. This puzzled Harry for a moment until he remembered that Draco had called them veela; their skin shone moon-bright and their white-gold hair fanned out behind them without wind. All the Dark Arts training Harry ever had was on full alert as the females began to dance, faster and faster. They were mesmerizing to watch…

Neville and Hermione got up and grabbed the railing of the box.

"Hey! What're you doing?" Harry yelled at them

His brother blinked and then backed quickly away from the edge, his face pink. Harry saw that he'd only been able to put one of the ear plugs in.

Hermione was blushing scarlet as she retook her seat with Neville. Harry took out an ear plug and heard the angry wails of the crowd, while the veela moved to sit on the sidelines of the field.

"Interesting…" Draco said beside Harry, eyeing Hermione.

"Have a pack, Hermione!" Theodore tossed another to Hermione who caught it and fumbled with the package.

"What's interesting?"

"Veela typically bewitch men," Draco said as loudly as he could over the angry cries of the crowd.

"And, now," Fudge boomed behind Harry. Harry twisted around to pick up another full glass of cold pumpkin juice. "The Irish National Team Mascots!"

"Teenagers, mainly," Mr. Nott said loudly behind them, correcting Draco. "Men typically have better control over these sorts of things… It's not as uncommon for a teenaged girl to become ensnared by veela music as one might think."

Harry glanced at red-cheeked Hermione who seemed to find the adverts on the giant blackboard much more engaging than the spectacle put on by the Irish National Team Mascots.

Two great green-and-gold comets zoomed around the stadium. They looped around twice and then the largest rainbow Harry had ever seen arced across the entirety of the stadium. The crowd oohed and aahed as though at a fireworks display. The rainbow faded and the comets slammed into each other forming a great shimmering shamrock. Golden shimmers fell from it; At the excited yells of the spectators, Harry assumed it was gold.

"Gran told me about Leprachaun gold. Pretty to look at, but disappears after a couple of hours," Neville yelled on the other side of Harry.

Nobody from the Top Box reached to pick up the shower of gold littering the front.

The great shamrock dissolved and innumerable tiny men with bearded faces and red vests floated down to the ground, taking the opposite side of the field.

"Introducing the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Fudge announced.

Suddenly a group of seven Quidditch players flew in from the very top of the stadium wearing white and green. White and green smoke flared behind the players' brooms before another giant display of fireworks went off, forming into a tap-dancing leprechaun. The crowd screamed.

"And the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team!"

Seven red blurs swept through the seven green-uniformed players, nearly cobbing them as they passed. An image of Viktor Krum appeared on the blackboard across from the Top Box. Harry had admired the advanced techniques Krum had outlined in his book for Seekers. Now as Harry watched the Bulgarian Seeker, Harry was impressed by the way Krum moved on the broomstick. He was slightly envious actually.

"Let… the match… begin!" Fudge flicked his wand out and a bright ball of light flew to the middle of the pitch, signaling the start of the game.

It was intense. From the research Harry and Neville had done, the Irish had the better Chasers, but to see the numbers play out in person was amazing. Within ten minutes Ireland had scored three times while Ludo announced every play neutrally and as fast as he could. The Irish worked as a seamless team, their movements so well coordinated that they appeared to be reading one another's minds as they positioned themselves. As Ireland continued to score, the Bulgarians became more brutal. Their Beaters scattered the Irish Chasers, and then a Bulgarian flier was finally able to score.

"Ear plugs!" Draco yelled. Harry popped them back in, nudging Neville again, who managed to get them in before the veela began to dance. With earplugs in, Hermione was looking at the great blackboard which was split between showing Viktor Krum and the Irish Seeker, Aidan Lynch No one jumped from their seats this time.

Suddenly the two Seekers began to dive, plummeting at great speeds towards the ground. The Irish Seeker smashed into the grassy field while the Bulgarian Seeker, Viktor Krum, spiraled back up. Harry knew what that was: the Wronski Defensive Feint. Viktor Krum was especially good at it. There was a time-out while Healers tended to Lynch. Krum continued looking for the Snitch.

Once Seeker Lynch had been revived, the game began again. Within fifteen minutes, Ireland had pulled ahead 130 to 10. And then the Bulgarian Keeper fouled an Irish Chaser. Once the penalty shot had been taken, play reached a frenzied pitch. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy, particularly the Bulgarians who didn't care whether their bats were hitting Bludgers or people in Quidditch robes of green and white.

Harry winced when a Bulgarian Chaser deliberately ran into an Irish Chaser in an obvious blatching foul. Even through his ear plugs, Harry could hear the crowd's roar of anger, and the Irish won another penalty shot. The Bulgarian Keeper was not very good against the Irish Chasers.

Movement on the field below had Harry learning forward curiously; the two sets of Team Mascots had evidently begun brawling. The veela were no longer beautiful women; their faces had become bird-heads with sharp, cruel beaks, and long, scaly wings had burst from their shoulders. They were throwing handfuls of fire at the leprechauns—When the crowd roared even louder through the ear plugs, Harry looked up and saw that he had missed Ireland scoring twice again.

Both team's Seekers were diving once more. Harry had no idea why Krum's face was bleeding profusely. Maybe he'd been hit in the face with a Bludger. Harry looked up at the scoreboard. He pulled out his ear plugs to ask Draco who he thought was going to catch the Golden Snitch. Even if Krum caught the Snitch now the Bulgarians would lose by ten points—

"Another goal by Levski!" Ludo bellowed out. Harry grabbed another cup of pumpkin juice from the tray and drank it down thirstily; he'd have to stop by the loo before long. "And the Seekers are diving!"

A resounding scream of delight billowed out from Bulgaria's supporters, and Harry braced himself on the chair as he plugged his ears with his fingers; the noise had been deafeningly painful after hearing nearly nothing for nearly the whole match. And then, Krum held the glint of gold high in the air.

The crowd roared with approval.

"I DON'T BELIEVE IT! IT'S A TIE!" Ludo the announcer called out. "Krum caught the Snitch, but there's no clear winner with 170-all! This is a first for the Quidditch World Cup! This is an historic event!"

"Ludo!" Cornelius Fudge's fingers were clutching his hat and traveling along the brim in a most anxious manner. "This has never happened in an official event. How am I supposed to announce the winner, when we haven't got one?!" The overlarge wizard in the black and yellow robes shrugged.

"Vell, that vas unexpected," said a baritone voice farther down the row from Harry. He turned and saw it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. Harry's eyes met Draco's mischievous grey ones; the prat had known the adult could speak English. Harry nearly laughed at Fudge's outraged expression, but the British Minister of Magic began to look fretful once more. Harry soon found out why.

The Top Box became magically illuminated from the inside-out, primarily focused on the giant golden cup held up by two panting wizards —who must have ran straight up the stairs—for everyone to see.

Fudge was sweating quite profusely as the crowd's noise grew confused the longer the Minister of Magic made no attempts to make an announcement.

"What am I supposed to say?!" Fudge said to Draco's father, who gave him a dainty shrug.

"I'm sure you'll think of something Cornelius," Lucius said with careful sympathy. Didn't Draco say how much his father wanted Fudge out of office? Harry's mind raced. This would surely ruin Fudge's popularity.

Beyond the Top Box, the crowd was growing ruly. The Irish Minister of Magic tipped his hat back, "We'll have rioting on our hands if you don't diffuse this, Minister Fudge."

"Any suggestions would be helpful," Fudge said, eyes darting between the other two Ministers, who offered nothing. The crowd's roar was beginning to overwhelm the Top Box. Something sparked in front of Harry. Hundreds of charmed notes were blocking the view of the field. The wizard in the bowler hat, Crouch, was now standing towards the front. He swiped his wand, and the notes went up in flame.

"Why don't they do a rematch?" Hermione hissed out over the crowd.

Neville gaped at her. "Can't, not since 1907. One time, a winner wasn't decided for the Quidditch World Cup for two years because of rematches!"

"And now they've no contingency plan," she said.

"Couldn't they retire the Seekers and Beaters?" Harry yelled over the crowd, which quite suddenly hushed as Fudge moved towards the speaking platform. "And give each team three shots to get a Quaffle past the Keeper?" Because the crowd was reduced to angry buzzing, Harry was easily heard by everyone in the Top Box. "Then whoever makes the most shots wins…" He finished, much more quietly. Very important-looking people in fancy outfits were staring at him and whispering.

Fudge's desperation seemed to melt away as he spun to face the match commentator. "Could we _do_ that, Ludo?"

"Extraordinary measures, Minister!" The wizard said with an un-Amplified voice and clapped him on the back. "The night is still young!"

Looking back out to the crowd, Fudge took a deep breath. After he'd applied another voice-amplifying charm, his voice boomed, "Er. Good evening, everyone! As you can see, we've arrived at quite a sticky situation! The teams were equally matched!"

The crowd roared out their dissatisfaction.

"Yes, well. A tiebreaker is needed… unless you would prefer the teams to share the Quidditch World Cup, mm?"

They booed, echoing over the field. Both of the team's supporters were in agreement.

"No, of course not! What fun would that be?" Fudge raised his hands in a placating manner. "Luckily, I have arrived at a solution! Beaters and Seekers, your valiant efforts during the game are to be commended. However, in this, your services won't be required. Your interference will result in penalty shots for the opposite team."

There were angry shouts from the team and the supporters. "He's stolen your idea!" Neville said heatedly. Harry shrugged. It wasn't really Harry's idea, since he co-opted it from the usual way to sort out a football match that had ended in a tie, and this way Fudge would remain a thorn in Mr. Malfoy's side.

"Now, now. Hear me out. You'll like how they'll break the tie!" Fudge raised a hand to quell the angry roar. "First, the referees will provide a Quaffle for each team's Chaser. Then, the Keepers must defend their goalposts from the Chasers! Once a shot is attempted, the Chaser may not attempt one again."

This seemed to placate the crowd from shouting to puzzled chatter.

"Whichever team makes the most goals from the onslaught WINS the Quidditch World Cup!" The British Minister of Magic threw an arm towards the glittering, golden trophy which gleamed under the lights.

There was a moment of silence and then the stands shook with the sound of wild approval for this novel idea. Harry wasn't about to inform anyone about the solution's Muggle origins, but he didn't miss Mr. Malfoy's directed look of calculation at his son nor Draco's smug, smirking face. Harry frowned at the prat.

"Let the tiebreaker BEGIN!" The lights dimmed in the Top Box and faded to darkness once more.

Keepers Zograf of Bulgaria and Ryan of Ireland floated to the front of their goalposts. The Irish Keeper didn't look very composed compared to Zograf's stoicism.

"And the Keepers are at the ready!" Ludo announced. "Looks like the Chasers from each team are putting their heads together. I wonder if we'll see a new Ploy born!"

There was another loud whistle, and each Chaser, clutching a Quaffle, approached the other team's Keeper. Both team's fliers had come up with the same idea—"It looks like each team will try for a simultaneous attack! Will the Keepers be able to defend enough goals?"

Another whistle cut through the air, and there was a barrage of Quaffles. Zograf blocked one, but with a beautifully executed Starfish-and-Stick Ryan knocked two Quaffles away.

"Zograf saves one!" Ludo bellowed, "But Keeper Ryan manages to block two Quaffles! IRELAND WINS!"

Ireland's supporters gave an almighty roar of appreciation, though Bulgaria's fans were attempting to match them with loud booing.

Smiling genially, Ludo raised his hands, and silence came. "Let's give a round of applause for the gallant losers—Bulgaria!"

The sound of cheering and stamping filled the enclosed space. Harry blinked. The Seekers and Beaters were standing along the sides of the Top Box, watching—and, in Ireland's case, celebrating their opponents' loss. The Bulgarians stood there, nonplussed by the commotion. Seeker Krum looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody, stoic face. He was still holding the Snitch in one hand and a Nimbus Two Thousand and One in the other. He seemed a lot less coordinated on the ground, being slightly duck-footed and distinctly round-shouldered. Grinning stupidly, Lynch, on the other hand, was predominantly supported by Beaters Quigley and Connolly.

"Come now! You played well, Bulgaria!" Minister Fudge held out a hand and one by one the Bulgarians filed by to shake hands with him—"Vulchanov and Volkov, truly showed off Bulgarian teamwork, eh?"—and the other two Ministers. When Krum's name was spoken, the whole stadium gave him an earsplitting roar drowning out Fudge's buttery congratulations. The Chasers and Keepers had finally arrived, landing on the elevated platform and stepping down to join their teams. "Yes, nice work, Dimitrov, and Ivanova, excellent throws! Levski, that last goal was tricky, wasn't it? Zograf, good show!"

Ludo made a sweeping gesture to the Irish. "Let's give another round of applause to the winners of the four hundred twenty-second Quidditch Cup!"

Upon a crashing wave of jubilant sound came the Irish team. "Troy, exceptional scoring! Mullet, best flier around and beautiful too! Moran, they couldn't have done it without you, and Ryan! What a phenomenal save! Conolly and Quigley, fantastic defensive batting! Better luck next time, eh Lynch?" Fudge said as each Irish flier came forward for their handshakes from the ministers. Keeper Ryan was grinning happily as the three Chasers lifted the World Cup into the air beside their Beaters and Seeker. The crowd below thundered raucously. Harry clapped until his hands went numb.

At last, the Irish team mounted their brooms and flew from the Top Box for a flying lap of honor around the stands. Their brooms spewed more white or green clouds of smoke.

Harry turned to make a comment to Draco, but the prat was gone as well as the drink and snack trays. He blinked and looked around. Crabbe and Goyle were missing as well. "Neville, where's Draco gone?"

"He left with his dad."

Looking over his shoulder at his brother, he noticed that Mrs. Longbottom was no longer sitting down beyond the distracted Hermione, either. The elderly witch was standing beside Mr. Nott as she spoke with multiple wizards and witches in gaudy outfits. "While we have a moment, let's go find a loo." He said to his three friends and then jerked his head towards the exit.

"Good idea, I'm about to pop," Theodore said.

His brother glanced towards Mrs. Longbottom and then nodded curtly with a determined expression. Hermione didn't make a comment; her expression seemed distant. Harry looked in the direction of her gaze and saw that she was looking at the group of Bulgarian fliers who were speaking to Mr. Obalonski.

"I'll cover for you," Lupin said behind them. A startled Harry looked at the adult, who gave them a wan grin. "Go on. You singlehandedly averted an international crisis, Harry. You ought to have a little fun while you can."

Theodore stood up, while Neville began to look more anxious by the moment. "I love this plan."

"Thanks, Mr. Lupin," Harry said, face splitting into a smile.

"Call me Remus or Lupin."

"Right. I'll do that when you call me Potter."

Lupin raised an eyebrow.

"It hardly seems fair that you get to demand that when I never gave you permission to call me Harry, sir," he said.

"You certainly inherited that cheek from James, Potter," Lupin said, appearing a bit sad to use the family name.

"Thanks again, Lupin."

Standing, Hermione brushed down her dress and pushed a few flyaway hairs behind her ears. "Let's go then," Hermione said with a breathless tone, "before we're caught. We should probably leave with some dignitaries so we don't stand out."

So, the four casually stepped on the other side of the tall, bulky foreign officials and waited.

As the dignitaries went to leave, the four teenagers left with them.

They stopped by the loo first, and soon after they made it to the grassy slopes outside. The sun had long since set, and the night air made the sweaty velvet suit too chilly for Harry.

Neville hadn't appeared to breathe properly until they were off the purple velvet that covered the floor of the stadium. "I can't believe that worked…"

Enjoying that they'd gotten out from under Mrs. Longbottom's stern, overprotective mothering, Harry patted his shoulder. "Anything's possible if you put your mind to it."

"We should keep moving before she notices we've been gone too long. Even with Lupin's help, she's bound to notice," Hermione said.

"Yeah, you don't ever want to underestimate a retired Obliviator," Theodore agreed. Neville hadn't moved from his spot.

"But…" Harry's brother looked deeply conflicted.

"What's the point in sneaking away if you spend all your time fretting about being caught?" Theodore said. "If you ask me, might as well enjoy your freedom while you've got it. When do you think the next chance you'll have to be out from under your Gran's thumb besides during school?"

A rather mischievous grin appeared on Neville's face, and his eyes lit up. "You're right!" He jogged ahead of them towards the forest, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"I can't believe _that_ convinced him," Hermione stated with a wry tone.

"It helps that he's gotten more confident," Theodore said. His eyes lingered over Harry. "I wonder who we should thank for that…"

With an annoyed tsk, Harry brushed by his Slytherin friend as he settled into a quick lope, easily passing Neville. "Race ya!" He tossed at his brother.

"You're on!"

Laughing, Harry ran down the center of the path which was mostly empty since people were generally hugging the path nearest to the trees where there was more light by the lit lanterns. Above them, Harry could see a sea of stars through the branches of the trees.

"Stop daydreaming, Harry, or you'll lose _again_!" Neville pounded past him.

At a moderate pace, Harry gave his brother another five seconds and then he pushed off the road much harder. With each foot's landfall he darted forward. When Harry ran fast enough, sometimes he felt like he was flying. That feeling filled him now as he dodged the few magical folk in his way. Minutes crawled by as his heart pounded and his breathing filled his ears. His goal wasn't that far ahead of him, and his lungs and muscles began to burn in a sensation he was coming to enjoy.

At the exact moment, they had both arrived at the edge of forest where they first entered. "Let's call it a draw," Harry told Neville's bewildered face, who glanced at the dust that had been kicked up in Harry's wake.

"You've been letting me win, haven't you?" Through Neville's breathy tone, Harry could hear disappointment.

"Yes, but—"

"So you felt sorry for me and let a loser like me win, is that it?" Neville's tone was an odd mixture of hurt pride and anguish.

"You're not a loser. Not even close!" Harry grabbed him by the arms to stop him from fleeing. "At the beginning of summer you wouldn't have been able to run as fast or as far or as _long_ as you've just done." When Neville's face only twisted in confusion, Harry wished he could express himself as eloquently as Draco, as clearly as Theodore, or even as bluntly as Hermione. "Your persistence in trying _even when you fail_ is your greatest strength. You've only had three months and you've already achieved so much! Neville, look down the path! That was at least a twenty-minute walk and we ran it in _half_ that!"

When Harry stepped back, Neville looked down at himself and at the path they'd raced down. "You're right. _Blimey_, Harry you're right!" He let out a whoop of excitement. "I'm going to try out for the Quidditch Team this year!"

Harry shook his head. "Not this year, Neville. You have a whole year of training to do."

"You don't think I'm good enough?"

Theodore had finally arrived, not a hair out of place, while Hermione seemed quite out of breath, red-faced and clutching her side. "What I think Harry—" she gasped to take in great pants of air.

Neville stared at her. "You alright?"

"Oh, I've a stitch in my side—" She panted out, "It's nothing."

"She's trying to say that there's no Quidditch at Hogwarts this year," Theodore said, not at all out of breath.

"_What?_ No Quidditch?!" Scuffing his foot, Neville hung his head, his expression crestfallen. "How? _Why_?"

"You haven't told him about that yet, Harry? I'm surprised," Draco drawled from a place on the roots of a large oak tree. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting on their rumps on either side of Draco's shiny black shoes, grinning at the four who just arrived.

Harry shot him an annoyed look and then said to Neville, "I didn't want to needlessly lower your spirits in case I was wrong about the Triwizard Tournament." Harry stepped closer to the trio by the oak tree, wondering what they were waiting for when a sudden burst of light in the black sky caused him to turn. So, they had wanted to watch a spectacular view of fireworks…

"They're bringing _that_ back? The Triwizard Tournament?" In the light of the fireworks, Neville's eyes were huge.

"Why do you look so concerned?" Harry asked, eyes turning again to the glittering colors in the sky.

"Well," Hermione said with a huff, "It's because people _die_ in that tournament."

"Yeah, 'Mione's right. Every time it's been brought back, someone's died!" Neville agreed. "Why would they bring _that_ back?"

"It raises international cooperation between foreign-born wizards and witches and, besides, don't you know the Ministry has already placed rules in effect to protect us underage witches and wizards?" Draco said with his usual air of superiority.

"Your father had a hand in this, did he?" Hermione asked sharply.

"Oh, I assure you that if my father _had_ this whole Triwizard Tournament enterprise would've been scrapped immediately. The wizard in charge of International Magical Cooperation Department at the Ministry of Magic would never allow it. My father simply implied to the Minister that he believed it was a _very_ _good_ idea in case Fudge was having second thoughts. The Minister can veto the whole process, you see. That's why there hasn't been a Triwizard Tournament called for over fifty years."

Harry was having a bad feeling about the whole affair. "Draco, have you heard of a witch who's gone missing?"

Draco blinked thoughtfully. "Well, yes. But she usually gets lost. It's said that she has an extremely bad sense with directions. I don't know why they don't just pair her with someone who'll keep her more productive."

"She went missing just recently? A month or so ago?"

"Yes…" Draco narrowed his eyes at Harry. "How do you know about Bertha Jorkins?"

_"Bertha… I am afraid that I cannot allow you to leave..."_ The memory of the high-pitched cold voice tore through Harry's mind. He needed to warn Professor Dumbledore.

A great explosion sounded across the valley of tents, and a ball of fire, not fireworks, erupted upward. The screams of delight and excitement instantly soured to wails of terror and fright.

Harry's breath caught in his chest as he watched chaos and destruction erupt below them. Swarms of people ran away from the tents to the safety of the forest, and Harry could see a group of five black-robed people setting tents alight left and right from their wands.

"Death Eaters," Neville said tremulously next to him. "But how?! Security's tight! How did they get in?!"

Hermione answered with a deathly soft tone, "They probably got in like anybody else. Nobody's stupid enough to Portkey in with Death Eater robes on."

Harry glanced at Draco, who was leaning with self-assurance against the tree trunk, and then at Theodore, who looked grimly at the destruction below. They were both curiously silent. Neither Crabbe nor Goyle said a word either, though Harry could see Crabbe's eyes was filled with dark malice and excitement at the devastation in front of him. Goyle's expression was carefully blank and he did not appear to be happy about the situation.

So, Draco and his two pawns had been told to stay here and watch the devastation unfold, had they? Harry reasoned that their fathers must be responsible, the fourth could be Theodore's Da and the fifth was probably Severus Snape. Harry looked back at the horror taking place to the people down below. At least the ones who were running past didn't look as if they'd been terribly injured.

"This is horrible. We should do something!"

"We need to stay safe," Harry told his brother. "The Ministry is responsible for the safety of the campsite, not us. We don't even have our O.W.L.s yet."

Neville was breathing heavily. His wand was out and it shook in a tight fist. "I can't stand it!" He sobbed out. "It's too horrible!"

"You must, Neville!" Hermione said with a firm voice.

Harry grabbed Neville's shoulder before he stupidly ran onto the field that was still emptying of panicked magical folk. "I want to, too, but how do you think Gran would feel if we were hurt?"

He sniffled, rubbing angrily at his tears. "I hate them. I hate Death Eaters. My mum and dad. They'd still be with me…" Neville's voice cracked and he let out another sob.

"Mine too," Harry said darkly, looking at his four roommates who gazed warily back. Harry thought that Neville's parents were some of the sweetest people he had ever met. "At least yours are alive."

"B-but what's the point if they d-don't even know who I-I… who I am!" Neville wept into both of his hands, his wand growing wet from tears.

"The point is that you can visit them. I don't even know where my parents were buried."

As more explosions sounded and multiple CRACKs of Apparation followed somewhere beyond the forest, Neville sobbed. Harry knew he must be releasing years of pent-up anger and sadness over the loss of his parents. Harry comforted him as well as he could, even though he was terribly awkward about it.

Absolutely no other witches and wizards chose to remain at the edge of the forest, besides the seven teenagers.

"Hermione! What're you doing over here?" Ron's voice pierced the night air.

"We stopped to watch the fireworks, and then—"

He came forward, giving her a look-over. "No one's hurt, are they?"

She blinked at Ron, obviously noticing that the Gryffindor hadn't looked at anyone else when he said it.

"No, only bad memories," Harry said simply, keeping his hand on Neville's shoulder as he continued to cry. "He'll be better soon."

"Weasel-bee, I didn't expect to see _you_ here."

"Malfoy," Ron's voice hissed across Harry's head. "Which Chiz-pit did you bloody crawl out of?"

Draco sneered, "Did you come a month early or did your father sell your little hovel to get better tickets?"

"I _bet_ your father's down there with the rest of them! Everyone knows he's a supporter of You-Know-Who!" Ron retorted angrily.

"Well… if he _was_, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I?"

"ENOUGH!" Hermione roared, standing between them with her wand trained in warning on one and then the other. "This isn't the time or the place for your petty quibbling! I swear you both are _worse_ than an old married couple!"

Theodore snorted loudly in surprise. Crabbe and Goyle began guffawing.

"Shut it!" Draco commanded. Harry was unsurprised that they promptly went quiet. "Well, Granger, that's _rich_ considering how you and Weasley bicker constantly. However, seeing as how neither a Muggle-born nor a blood traitor would know the proper etiquette to maintain a hospitable environment between public enemies… I wonder if you'll manage to stay _safe _with Death Eaters lurking about. Crabbe! Goyle!" In a few moments, all three of them had disappeared into the darkness.

"Bloody Slytherins," Ron muttered and then, after Theodore cleared his throat, growled, "…Bloody Malfoy and his goons."

"Did Malfoy just say that it's _our_ fault he's a rude, obnoxious twit?" Hermione's face had twisted with disgust. "That smug little bastard! I can't stand him!"

"You did punch him on the nose that one time," Harry reminded her and in the dim light of a half-moon she scowled. "And Ron hasn't learned to control his temper when Draco baits him either, has he?" Harry finally dropped his hand from Neville who was rubbing his face raw.

"This is _not_ my fault!" Ron yelled. "That bullying wanker is always taking shots at my parents and my brothers and Ginny!"

"You misunderstand me," Harry said. "I'm not saying that Draco's intentions excuse his behavior, nor do I condone his behavior. He's a prat and proud of it."

"But you're blaming me! What you meant to say is that 'If you didn't have a ginger's temper, Malfoy wouldn't be such an arse!'" Ron shouted.

"I wasn't suggesting…" Harry sighed to stop himself from explaining. "I'm sorry, alright?"

Ron's mouth gaped open as he pointed at Harry. "_You're sorry_? Malfoy's the one I'm mad at!"

"I never intended to slight your or your family. In fact, I think your mum's wonderful. I still have the jumper she made me last Christmas. I was thinking of wearing it just to annoy Draco."

In the faint light, Ron's ears turned bright red as he continued to gape at Harry.

"I think he's in shock, mate," Theodore said to Harry.

"She keeps your thank-you card on the mantle next to photos of her children," Hermione said.

"Oh," Harry said, touched. He'd only met the big-hearted Mrs. Weasley twice before, but that was years ago for only a brief moment at the train station and a short while in Diagon Alley.

"I-I told her you were just being a bloody Slytherin… but you… you actually think so? You think my mum's wonderful?" Ron looked as uncertain as he sounded.

"Just because I'm a Slytherin doesn't make me a bad person. I'm still who you met on the train… being Sorted into Slytherin never changed who I was," Harry said.

Ron's mouth had opened into that stupid expression he'd had when he found out Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived.

Hermione nudged Ron. "Well, _say_ something."

"Merlin…" Ron paused, looking at Harry with fresh eyes. "I've been a complete knobhead towards you…"

"You're an arse to everyone, not just Harry," Theodore teased in a friendly manner.

"Hey!" Ron protested as they laughed.

_"Mosmorde!" _A harsh voice cried behind them, and a great greenish light flung up into the dark sky.

"Oh, shite," Theodore said, looking up at the skull-and-snake aurora that had appeared in the sky blotting out the stars. "We need to scatter before the law-keepers—!"

Several clouds appeared around them, coalescing into wizards and witches with wands pointed at them, and Harry shouted, "DUCK!" wrapping arms around Neville and Hermione to make sure they did so.

Theodore and Ron dove to the ground as multiple red Stunning Spells were lobbed in their direction. Harry felt his hair ripple from the passing spells, which crossed each other and slammed into tree trunks, sparking—

"WAIT! STOP! _That's my son_!" A wizard shouted furiously as he jogged towards them.

Harry released his hold on Hermione and Neville and sat up. With the bright light of the aurora in the sky, Harry recognized the terrified man striding towards them as Arthur Weasley, Ron's father.

"Ron, Hermione! Are you okay?" The wizard helped them up and gave them a quick inspection. When he received an affirmative, he turned to Harry, Neville, and Theodore who were brushing themselves off, "Kids, you okay?"

"Dad, that's Harry Potter with Neville Longbottom and Theodore Nott," Ron said.

"_Harry Potter_?" Mr. Weasley said incredulously. "My word!"

"Which of you did it!" The same wizard in a bowler hat from the stands pointed a shaking wand into their faces, his face taut with rage, "Which one of you has conjured it?!"

"Crouch, you can't possibly—" Mr. Weasley began.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron said loudly, looking indignant. "What did you attack us for?"

"Do not lie!" The wizard demanded. "You've been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"What _crime_?" Harry asked, hating that he could not hold his wand in the wizard's face as he seemed so keen to do to the five of them.

"Barty!" Mr. Weasley reproved, "They're just _kids_!"

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry," Hermione said in a hushed tone, nodding to the sky. "It's _his_ Mark."

"You mean…?" Harry said, staring up at the apparition glowing ghostly in the sky and thought of Voldemort. "Do you think the person, who stood back over there," Harry was careful not to think of who that might have been as he waved in the general direction of where he'd heard the incantation, "Conjured it so the Death Eaters could escape?"

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Crouch said, turning his popping eyes to Harry's face; disbelief was etched all over his face. "You seem well-informed about the range limits of the spell, Mr. Potter."

Harry looked around at the ring of witches and wizards around them. Besides Mr. Crouch, none of the others appeared to think it remotely likely that the Hogwarts students had conjured the snake-and-skull illusion. On the contrary, many of them were squinting through the dark trees in the direction that Harry had gestured.

"He's right you know," a witch in a woolen dressing gown announced. "One of them must have Conjured it to distract us. They'll have escaped the Ward limits and Disapparated by now."

"Our Stunners went right through those trees… there's a good chance we got someone," a short man with a golfer's hat said lightly.

"All of you, this way!" Mr. Crouch commanded, heading into the darkness.

Harry looked back up at the aurora fascinated. It looked rather pretty for it to represent something so evil.

"You haven't read that book I sent you last Christmas, have you?" Hermione said quite severely to Harry. "Otherwise you would have known about _that."_ She enunciated the last word like it was something very foul, gesturing to the sky.

"Sorry, I've been doing homework, bonding with Neville, and suffering through the tutors that Mrs. Longbottom forced upon us," Harry said.

"Which you will thank me for at a later date, dear!" came a sharp voice. Standing next to Mr. Nott, Augusta Longbottom was seething with anger. Her face held high spots of color. "I've been looking everywhere… for the both of you!"

"Augusta, a pleasure to see you though I wish it were in better circumstances," Mr. Weasley said politely. Mr. Nott immediately took Theodore aside and began to speak to him quietly.

Harry blinked. If Mr. Nott had been with Mrs. Longbottom this whole time… Then he wasn't a Death Eater, was he?

Mrs. Longbottom nodded to acknowledge Mr. Weasley's words but her attention was fully on Harry and Neville.

"H-hi, Gran," Neville stammered. "We're alright. We never made it to the tents before they were attacked."

Harry looked down at the field now filled with charred bones of tent supports and miscellaneous other things still smoking. It was a very sad sight, he thought.

"And a very good thing!" She growled, stepping closer to Neville to inspect every part of him. Neville allowed her. "It would have been your luck that you tripped and was kicked in the head by that stampede of riffraff!" The old witch suddenly threw her arms around her grandson and pulled him into a tight hug. "I feared for the worst. Don't you ever scare me like that again."

"Sorry, Gran," Neville mumbled against her shoulder. Harry smiled at the sight of them.

"No!" A high-pitched voice shrieked behind them. Harry whipped around to see that a house-elf had been caught, _Crouch's_ house-elf. "No, master! Not clothes! Winky didn't do it! Not clothes, master! Please!"

Harry knew this was the only way to set a house-elf free from their magical contract: present them with proper garments. He didn't know why it was so alarming to the little house-elf, unless Mr. Crouch provided a good home for her.

"What's going on over there?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Will they hurt her?"

"Probably not," Theodore said. "There's laws against that sort of thing in Britain."

"We better go, Ron," Mr. Weasley said. "Molly will have our ears if we don't make our appearance quickly..."

Ron didn't seem to want to move. His eyes were affixed upon the sobbing house-elf.

"Ron," Mr. Weasley said more urgently.

"See you later, Hermione, Neville, Harry, and Nott," he said. The Gryffindor's eyes were reluctant to leave the scene of the sobbing house-elf surrounded by wizards and witches. He turned and followed his father deeper into the woods.


	3. Onwards to Hogwarts

_**Author's Notes: **Posting early this week. Next chapter won't be out until next week.  
_

* * *

When they arrived back to the Longbottom Manor via Side-Along Apparation, Harry was filled with general unease from the appearance of Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. True to tactics of most Dark Lords, Voldemort's machinations were working to instill fear of a coming reign…

"Bailey," Mrs. Longbottom said, "you and your guests are welcome to stay for the night."

"We will most happily take your offer, milady," Theodore's Da replied.

She raised her voice, "Dobby?"

There was a pop and the eager house-elf appeared. "Dobby has finished a splendid supper! What else can Dobby do for the Mistress?"

"Prepare comfortable rooms for our guests." The Matriarch looked over Harry's friends and Lupin.

Grinning ear-to-ear, Dobby bowed. "Give Dobby ten minutes!" With a snap, he disappeared again.

"Let us dine in the parlor before our meal goes cold."

The group entered the dining parlor, taking places in front of delicately arranged settings. A blink later and the empty dishes filled with the first course. The adults conversed about banal topics, avoiding any mention of the sudden end to the Irish fans' celebrations.

Hermione and Theodore dominated the conversation among the soon-to-be fourth-years with talk of house-elf rights. Theodore represented the thought that house-elves were generally happy to serve Wizarding families, while Hermione was of the opinion that all house-elves should be made free and paid equitable salary. When Dobby popped in to tell Mrs. Longbottom that the rooms were ready, Hermione called him over.

"What can Dobby do for Harry Potter's friend, Hermione Granger?"

"Yes, well, I have a few questions for you about your treatment here at this manor, if I might ask them?"

"Dobby is happy to answer!"

"Harry freed you from the Malfoys." Her eyes flicked towards Harry before resettling on the house-elf. "Are you still free?"

"Oh yes, Dobby is his own master! Dobby gladly wears _clothes_!"

"Do you get paid in clothes?"

"Oh, no, no. Harry Potter offers a great number of _clothes_ and Dobby _chooses_ what to wear!"

Hermione frowned at the faded color and the hem that was unraveling from the Christmas jumper. "Are they all in such poor shape?"

Harry said sharply, "I offered him everything from my closet. Don't blame me when that's what he chose."

"No need to get defensive about it," she said, and then turned back to Dobby. "Surely you would like to wear something _nicer_."

"Dobby likes the _warm _feelings from it. Harry Potter _treasures _this, and so Dobby only wears it on special occasions and Dobby is careful to preserve its original appearance."

Harry's face went hot when his three friends gave him a curious look. "My favorite grammar school teacher knitted it for me."

"_Oh_," Hermione said as if this explained everything. "She's the only one who gave you the benefit of the doubt?"

Swallowing, Harry nodded. Theodore and Neville exchanged a look. Hermione must have read the unauthorized biography by Rita Skeeter.

"Not long after Mrs. Peterson gave me the jumper, the Dursleys relocated. I was afraid that if I wore it, it would be taken from me. I made the mistake of running it through the wash once. The colors faded and, well, it really ought to have been hand-washed," Harry said quietly.

Dobby proudly puffed his chest out, rocking on his heels. "And now Harry Potter's best jumper belongs to Dobby!"

"I… I see," Hermione said. "So, Harry pays you for your service?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Dobby said as he shook his large head vigorously and his ears flopped noisily. He completely missed the glare Hermione sent Harry. "Dobby refuses any payment from Harry Potter. Harry Potter is Dobby's _friend_. Harry Potter helped Dobby because he could not bear to see Dobby mistreated. Dobby said, 'How can Dobby ever repay, Harry Potter?', and Harry Potter asked what _Dobby_ wanted to do. No one has _ever asked _Dobby such a question before. But Dobby had always wanted to serve a proper wizard, one who would not threaten to hurt Dobby five times a day or kick Dobby down the stairs. So, Dobby _chose_ to serve Harry Potter for the rest of his days, Hermione Granger." Dobby's ears rose with an inquisitive air. "Does this answer the question?"

Hermione's eyes had watered during Dobby's retelling. "Yes, it does. Thank you, Dobby."

"Dobby is happy to be of service!" With a snap, the green-eyed house-elf disappeared.

Her gaze lingered over Harry before she took a bite of the small chocolate cake that had appeared on her plate. Theodore could not stop smirking whenever Harry glanced at him.

"The end to that match was a surprise with the teams tying, wasn't it? It's too bad Bulgaria's Keeper had trouble defending the hoops," Neville said in the sudden silence.

Theodore nodded, "Zograf's usually more on top of his game. He could've been bribed or Confunded."

"Or simply lost his nerve. Performing at an event where a hundred thousand fans are watching would do that to most people," Hermione said. "Or maybe he heard something distressing before the game started."

Shrugging, Theodore ate the rest of his slice of cake.

"Could have, 'Mione."

"Otherwise," Harry agreed, "The results don't make sense. Zograf let too many goals through than was normal for him."

The conversation continued in that vein, until Mrs. Longbottom announced that supper had been delicious as usual and stood up. Neville and Harry immediately set their napkins onto the table and rose with her, which left their guests rushing to set aside their cutlery and stand as well.

"No hurry, dears. Eat if you're still hungry," Mrs. Longbottom instructed. Harry blinked in surprise. Mr. Nott, however, appeared finished with his meal, while Lupin only stopped eating out of courtesy.

"Thank you, Gran," Neville said.

"I will be retiring to the sitting room, dear. Don't stay up too late." Her steel green eyes passed between Neville and Harry, and they nodded. One much more vigorous than the other.

The two eldest left the room, and they continued their meal.

Hermione made the comment on how strict Gran was and Harry couldn't help the chuckle. Strict was an understatement.

"More like overbearing, you mean," Theodore chimed in after a brief spate of laughter.

As soon as they finished, they wished Lupin a good night and went upstairs, tired but well-fed.

"Well," Hermione said as soon as the four teenagers had made it to the second floor, "I don't think Crouch's house-elf could conjure the Dark Mark without a wand—they didn't find one in the vicinity, did they?—nor did she sound like the person who cast it. I'll have to write Ron for details." She frowned. "I really should have noticed that earlier. Now the poor thing's likely thrown out of her home... maybe it'll turn out alright. She was probably nothing more than a slave to Crouch like every other house-elf I've read about."

After listening to her position over supper, everyone knew better than to argue with her on the topic of house-elf enslavement. Even bringing up that house-elves enjoyed menial labor had been met with derision.

"It would be wonderful if free colonies of house-elves still existed. Did you know the Parkinsons _breed _house-elves?" Hermione sounded scandalized. "Imagine, _sentient beings_ being treated like animals! It's awfully barbaric and ought to stop, don't you think?"

As a silent Neville opened the door to the bedroom he shared with Harry and walked in without answering, Theodore looked thoughtfully down the hallway which had dozens of closed doors and then proceeded to open them one by one, closing the ones that didn't pass his inspection.

"Hmph," Hermione said, her hands on her hips. She swiveled her head to the remaining wizard. "You agree with them, Harry?"

"Are you kidding? They haven't even stated what they thought to avoid an argument with you altogether."

Hermione scowled. "Well then, do you agree with me?"

"I think house-elves should be given a choice. If they want to work for free, you can't force them to take the money. I know I've tried more times than I can count with Dobby. And, the whole idea of breeding them seems cruel since they _are_ Beings. They should be allowed to fall in love and pair up however they like."

Appearing satisfied, the young witch went to the adjacent room that Theodore had left open. "I thought that was a pleasant meal all things considered. Good night and pleasant dreams." Then she shut the door, locking it.

Harry had almost expected her to argue that house-elves were all brainwashed and needed to be 'educated' from a young age to the joys of consumerism like she had over their meal. A board creaked behind him.

"We'll probably leave by Floo tomorrow morning after breakfast," Theodore said over Harry's shoulder. He must have followed the hall until it looped back to the stairwell next to Harry's room. "Night."

"Night," Harry said. Theodore disappeared into the room adjacent to Neville's study across the hall.

Harry entered his bedroom. Neville was already curled under the covers of his bed, fast asleep. The short Slytherin changed into nightrobes, slipped into his bed, put out the lamp's flame, and fell asleep. He didn't stay asleep long. His eyes opened to blackness, his breath catching from another nightmare. Throwing off the covers, he grabbed the lamp and turned it on. It cast the darkness back with its dim light, and Harry was able to breath more easily.

He shuffled to Neville's study and ignored the mirror's greeting as he passed it to his desk. He pulled a shiny black book from the bookshelf next to his desk and sat to read it.

The clock gave quiet chimes as each hour passed. Now, it was three in the morning, and Harry was thinking. He didn't want to disturb his brother with his newest knowledge. For all intents and purposes, he should go to sleep, but after reading the book Hermione had given him cover to cover worrisome fears had a way of keeping him wide-awake with a brain buzzing with restless activity.

"Harry?" Theodore's soft voice interrupted the tumble of thoughts.

He looked up at his friend. The glow of the oil lamp in Theodore's hand cast most of his face in shadows.

"What's on your mind?" Turning off the oil lamp, Theodore walked into the dimly lit study and noticed the book sitting in front of Harry.

With a sigh, Harry wasn't sure which of the many thoughts rattling around his head he should share.

"Is it about… what happened at the campsite? I couldn't sleep either." Theodore didn't take a chair, looking unsure as if he were welcome or not.

Harry glanced down at the cover of _The_ _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_, which he had finished only half an hour ago. "Three days ago…" He hesitated and then lightly brushed the black fringe covering his scar. "I woke up with my scar burning, and it wasn't just a little bit; it felt like someone was using a hammer and a chisel to split my skull open… And tonight… No, last night…"

"It was the first time in nearly thirteen years that the Dark Lord's Mark appeared in the sky," Theodore finished for him. Looking concerned, he took a seat in a creaky chair across from Harry. "Did any…" His friend faltered, '"Did any visions occur with the pain?"

"Visions…" Harry said slowly, wondering if he should tell his friend or not, but was he truly trustworthy?

"That's quite the suspicious look. What are you thinking about?"

Harry decided it was better to ask straight out. "Was that your father who conjured the Dark Mark?"

"No. I didn't recognize the voice." Theodore grimaced a little as he said it. "Which is a shame. I'd have liked to have collected a partial bounty for turning a Death Eater in."

"Then, yes."

"Yes, you had visions?"

"Dreams, more like," Harry said thoughtfully, staring at the cover illustration of a waning moon, which was the blade of the Grim Reaper's leaning scythe. "Dreams of a servant with Volde—"

Leaning forward with a menacing air, Theodore hissed. "If the Dark Lord has risen, you _must not_ speak his name!"

Harry frowned, too tired to figure out why he felt that wasn't the first time he'd been warned about it.

"It's Taboo Magic, Harry. Didn't that book talk about it?"

"Oh… yes, I suppose it did."

"If the Dark Lord regains his power, he'll get his minions to cast Taboo Magic everywhere. He'll know whenever someone says his name, their location, how many people are around them, a pile of information which he then uses to send a Death Squad to make sure you don't take his name in vain again. Sometimes the Dark Lord slaughters everyone and sometimes he destroys all of their possessions to allow the barely subsisting survivors to spread the fear of his name around."

"_Merlin_. _He_ really does think he's a god, doesn't he?" Harry murmured at the book. "A god of death and vengeance."

"God, devil, it doesn't much matter," Theodore said with a worn voice. "He's powerful and Dark and if you cross him he will kill you where you stand, but _only_ _if _he's feeling merciful."

Harry's frown became grimmer as he imagined the other things Voldemort had been known to do from the descriptions in the book.

"Da's told me plenty about him. Said that the Dark Lord had always expected the children of his followers to take the Dark Mark," Theodore said, tapping his wand-arm—his left arm—"if they're worthy of it when they become of age."

"What a load of tosh," Harry said angrily, "Just because you're born from someone who's a Death Eater doesn't make you a surefire Death Eater."

Theodore smiled at him with that look of pity Harry hated. "One does not tell the Dark Lord 'no' when he makes a request. The consequences… are brutal."

"I would never say 'yes' to him, not _ever_," Harry said with conviction.

Theodore didn't say anything to that. Leaning back, he rubbed a hand through his cropped sandy hair. "At any rate, it's Uncle Rantankerous I have to watch out for. It's another reason why Da and I moved around so much… because of him. He's mad, thinks I'm his son even though my cousin died in childbirth years ago… According to my Da, Uncle Ranty's always been eager to offer me to the Dark Lord."

He might've been among the five Death Eaters then. "I didn't know…"

His friend shrugged lightly. "So these dreams…? When did they start?"

"A couple weeks after school term ended."

"What're they about?"

"I'm a snake called Nagini. I slither around overhearing conversations." When Theodore nodded, Harry continued, "The first dream was about Bertha Jorkins, though I'd forgotten her name. She gave Vol—Lord Vole information about the Quidditch World Cup and the Triwizard Tournament before he used Imperio on her. My second dream was between Tom and another wizard he called Weaver. There's a faithful servant at Hogwarts, a murder plot, and some plan that involves me this year. Then I—well, _Nagini_ warned Lord Vole about a Muggle gardener—Bryce—listening in on them."

"And then?"

"And then Bryce was murdered, and I woke up with my scar aching but without any sort of blood or puffiness."

Theodore winced. "The Killing Curse?"

With a nod, Harry leaned against his hand, propped up by an elbow. "So what do you think? Why am I getting these… visions?"

"Dunno. You could have some innate Divination potential… which I hesitate to dismiss since you always seem to be extraordinarily lucky in extremely unlucky situations and very unlucky in the simplest circumstance…" Theodore's eyes shifted uneasily.

Harry dismissed that he might have any sort of Divination ability. "What else could it mean?"

"…You might have a connection to the Dark Lord through the scar."

"Through the scar," Harry repeated dumbly. "To the most powerfully evil wizard of our time."

"Well, it's acting a bit like a Dark Lord Sensor isn't it? Your scar hurts when he's possessed someone around you or bleeds in his presence or stings when you're having dreams with him in it—"

"I've had other dreams of him without my scar hurting," Harry corrected.

"Then, the burning scar could signal the difference between a nightmare and something real happening."

That could easily explain why there were so few 'visions' about being a snake. Harry's stomach was clenching in a painful manner.

"In these instances," Theodore leaned over the table after glancing around warily. "Have you thought it may be that your scar reacts badly when the Dark Lord's casting the Unforgivables?"

"Why do you say that?" Harry pressed fingers over his inert scar.

"You wake up because it's hurting so badly, you see, _after_ the Dark Lord murders someone, right? You also woke up after the Imperius Curse was used on Jorkins…?"

It was a little disturbing how easily Theodore caught on and quite terrifying how much sense he was making. "But wouldn't I _feel_ it if he cast spells while I was awake?"

"Maybe your scar doesn't react to basic, every day spells. And maybe he only uses Unforgivables on occasion in the darkest hours of the morning. He's too smart do it in broad daylight if he's severely weakened and in hiding."

Harry felt resistance to the idea. He didn't want to have this connection with Voldemort. A shiver ran down his spine.

"It's too bad about Jorkins; no one's realized yet that she's not lost," Theodore continued, "They probably won't until her usefulness to the Dark Lord ends."

Taking a deep breath, Harry said, "I think most people would've told me not to worry about the dreams."

Theodore's steel blue eyes met Harry's. "It would have been a disservice to you. I want you to survive the coming war."

"So you'll side with me?" Harry asked, filling with hope.

"I'll certainly try, but I think my father may have other plans for me."

Harry's mood deflated. "The Dark Mark then?"

Theodore's lips flattened, and his eyes became shuttered. "Da's not a Death Eater…"

"Sorry."

"No worries." Theodore's gaze became distant as he leaned back, looking through Harry's oil lamp. "During the first war, Da's told me stories about how he wiggled out from that Dark Lord's clutches. The Dark Lord had wanted him pressed into his army's ranks like every other able-bodied Pureblood wizard, so it was no small task either to evade him. Almost every thrill-seeking Snatcher chased Da around the world to try to collect the reward on his head. Fortunately, this time around if Da's caught, that'd be another benefit to getting hairy once a month. The Dark Lord doesn't Mark my sort."

The book had said that Voldemort used Lycanthropes to murder or infect others, but never mentioned his prejudice against them… "I should probably jot off another note to Professor Dumbledore about your theory and tell him about Jorkins," Harry said, pulling out a green-hued sheet of parchment, a dark green quill and silver ink. Then, he wrote out a sentence about his being connected to the Dark Lord when Theodore grabbed his wrist and lifted his hand.

Harry gave him a strange look.

"Where did you get that parchment and ink?"

"It was Draco's birthday gift…" Harry said slowly, not sure what the fuss was about.

Releasing him, Theodore snatched the parchment and burned it using the flame from the lamp. The parchment sparked purple and silver. There was a loud exhale from his friend. "You need to burn the rest of the parchment in the main hearth when you've a chance to."

"Why?"

The other teen ran a hand through his hair. "Have you written anything else with this parchment?"

"No… Well, I wrote Professor Dumbledore about the dreams three days ago…"

"I don't know how to say this nicely."

Harry knew that he'd done something terribly stupid and not known by the look on Theodore's face. "What is it?"

"That was Repeating Parchment." Theodore's fingers were tightly clamped on the edge of the table. "You've just told Lucius Malfoy that you think you might have a direct link to the Dark Lord. By all means, tell Professor Dumbledore about the dreams, but in the future avoid using anything Draco gives you when dealing with something this sensitive, alright?"

Harry nodded, looking at the stack of green parchment. Lucius Malfoy, a Death Eater who—according to the book he'd just read—had escaped time in Azkaban by claiming that he was under the Imperius Curse, knew that Harry had a mysterious connection to Lord Voldemort. Covering his face with his hands, Harry groaned. "I'm an idiot."

"I have a book on magic dealing with political espionage. I'll send it to you. But to avoid this sort of thing in the future, don't use anything from the Malfoys. Promise?"

Harry stood up and pulled a regular piece of parchment from Neville's desk.

"Did you hear me, Harry?"

"Yes. I got it." He sat back down and began writing a proper letter to the headmaster. The more he learned the less foolish Harry would be. At least, he hoped that was how it worked.

* * *

A week and a half later, there was definitely an end-of-summer gloom in the air when Harry woke up. Heavy rain was splattering against the window next to his bed as he got dressed in jeans and a jumper. The rain was a good reason to wear his Spellfast cloak. He'd change into his robes once he was on Hogwarts Express.

Last week, Dobby had taken the list of school supplies that the wizards had needed and disappeared to Diagon Alley to make purchases for them. He arrived with everything, plus a few extra things he believed Harry had wanted. Harry had accepted the items, thanking a jubilant Dobby. Half of them were gifts Harry had wanted to buy for his friends whose birthdays hadn't yet come that year and the rest were future Christmas gifts. It had made Harry wonder at Elf Magic. Last year, Dobby had cleaned Snape's filthy house simply because it had bothered Harry so much. Now, Dobby had bought more things than he had been instructed to spend money on…

As Harry packed his trunk, Neville stirred on his bed. The bedroom door creaked open and Dobby peeked inside, very careful not to step into the room.

"Is Dobby to stay at Longbottom Manor, Harry Potter?" He said squeakily, his bat-like ears drooping.

"Yes," Harry said. "I'll return for Christmas and Easter break. We'll see each other then, Dobby. If not, you can come visit me." He smiled at the free house-elf, who grinned uncertainly back. "I'll write to you, if you want."

Dobby's eyes immediately began to water and he sopped up the tears with the collar of an over-sized polo shirt that Harry had outgrown. "Harry Potter is so kind. Dobby has the best, most wonderful, most caring wizard to serve."

"You have to promise to write me back," Harry told him. "If Mrs. Longbottom is bullying you, you don't need to put up with it."

"Mistress is no bully to Dobby. Mistress is most grateful of Dobby's hard work and constantly praises Dobby. In fact, Mistress has fired the Cook months ago, preferring Dobby's meals." Dobby's mouth split across his large head, beaming with pride.

"Or she's doing it to save money," Harry said and glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice, "Lodging Neville's parents at St. Mungo's indefinitely can't be cheap."

Dobby blinked his tennis ball-sized eyes at Harry. "Mistress gives Dobby a Sickle every day Dobby works at Longbottom Manor."

"She… pays you?" Harry stared at the house-elf, feeling a bit hurt. He'd offered his own money so many times and been turned down.

"Harry Potter freed Dobby," the house-elf reminded him solemnly. "Dobby cannot take Harry Potter's money, especially when Dobby desires to make a Christmas gift for Harry Potter later."

"You didn't… spend your money on me when you went to Diagon Alley, did you, Dobby?"

Another grin split the house-elf's face. "Dobby is not telling, sir. No, Dobby is not."

Harry was going to have to get the stubborn house-elf a gift, along with Neville and Mrs. Longbottom. Harry smiled. There were fifteen people he was giving Christmas gifts to this year. Four years ago, it would have been zero. "Alright, I won't ask you to spoil your surprise for me."

Dobby let out a gleeful cackle and rubbed his hands together eagerly. At the cackling, Neville jerked awake and sat up suddenly. "What's that?" He yawned widely as Dobby snapped his fingers, disappearing in a wisp of smoke.

"Sorry, Neville. I was packing my school trunk." Harry gestured to his green trunk with a silver Slytherin crest on it. In the last week it had been Transfigured when his back was turned. Obviously, Dobby must have managed it from the open doorway.

"Oh," Neville said, flopping back onto his bed. Within moments, his brother flung the covers back, "Oh! We're leaving today?!"

Harry laughed at how forgetful the Gryffindor was as he ran frantically from one side of the room to the other gathering things to toss into his burgundy trunk which was covered in golden lions. "Neville, at least look at the list I made you write yesterday."

"Oh, right," his brother said, dropping what he had in his hands onto his bed and snatching the parchment off the table. Muttering to himself as he read, he shouted, "I almost forgot that!" and rushed to his very large closet, pulling the dress robes, shoes, and tie from it.

Neville was hopelessly disorganized. While Harry's half of the room was very neat and orderly, Neville hardly ever put anything away and was often pushing piles of clothes around to find quills or books he'd left on the floor. Harry wondered if all Gryffindors were this messy or if it was just Neville. Back and forth from the list Neville went, collecting things and shoving them into his trunk which already had an Extended Charm on it. Once he marked the last thing off the list, Neville heaved a sigh of relief and slumped to the floor next to Harry.

"Guess we'll skip morning exercises today," Harry said after looking at the time.

"Oh no! I'm sorry, Harry."

"Don't be. Missing one day won't do much. If you skip all school year…"

"My strength will disappear, won't it?" Neville sighed despondently. "It's going to be hard when you won't be doing the exercises with me."

"We could always get up early to go jogging. And, there are plenty of corridors to use if I'm not allowed outside the castle like last year."

"I would like that very much," his brother said happily.

After a long breakfast, they each donned their cloaks and stepped by their trunks—Harry had his owl in a cage and Neville was holding onto his toad. Even though it had stopped raining, the air was heavy with water as the breeze blew sticky and hot, warning of another inevitable downpour within a few hours. The two stood inside a large oval ring outside on the green, soggy grass, while Mrs. Longbottom appeared from the doorway, wearing the hat topped with a vulture and holding her red Nagaskin handbag. As always, she looked ridiculous in the outfit, but what did Harry know about Wizarding fashion?

Stepping between them, Mrs. Longbottom swept up an arm from the both of them. One arm held tightly by the Matriarch, Harry tightened his other hand on his trunk. She twisted and suddenly Harry felt like he was being sucked down a drinking straw. His eyeballs were pressed to the back of his head, he didn't think he could breathe at all—and then they were in King's Cross train station. She released them and dusted something from her dark green dress. "There we are, dears."

Only a little queasy—he'd been getting used to Side-Along Apparation—Harry put coins into the trolley station and pulled two trolleys off. He and Neville placed their trunks onto it.

"Come along, come along," Mrs. Longbottom said curtly, leading them to the barrier between platforms nine and ten, Neville and Harry pushing their noisy trolleys behind her.

Most people stared at the elderly witch before they even looked at Harry and his owl Hedwig. Harry thought it just _might_ be her hat. Stuffed vultures were meant as a conversation starter in a creepy sitting room, not on top of a hat…

Before long, all that was between them and Hogwarts Express was a magical barrier that appeared to be made entirely of brick. By now, Harry was used to walking straight through it; the tricky part was doing this in an unobtrusive way, so to avoid unwanted Muggle attention. As he and Neville chatted unconcernedly while they pushed their trolleys, they slipped through the barrier. Platform nine-and-three-quarters materialized in front of them. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet engine was already there, its stack billowing with steam. Many Hogwarts students and parents appeared like dark ghosts since the massive skylight above them hardly let in very much light due to the heavy rain. The lanterns all along the train platform were lit, providing just enough light for everyone to get by.

Harry was very glad to say goodbye to Mrs. Longbottom, while Neville seemed sad, giving Mrs. Longbottom another tight hug. Once the old Matriarch turned to leave, the two young wizards put their trunks in the luggage carriage and then headed to Harry's favorite compartment: the last one. Harry slid the door open and saw that three others were already occupying the space.

"Draco," Harry said with a tired look, "I can't believe you got here early."

"Don't sound so surprised," his friend drawled with a sweet tone, "I promised you I would."

Still beside Harry outside the door, Nevile said, "Harry, could I…" He hesitated as his face pinked.

"You don't need my permission to sit with your friends."

"Bye!" Neville darted down the hall, looking through each window as he went.

Harry slid the door shut and took a seat next to an amused-looking Draco. "Why're you smirking like that?"

"Why do you think he went to go sit with someone else?"

"Because he doesn't like you."

Draco clucked his tongue in disappointment and then sighed. "Maybe next year…" He said to the window fondly.

"What?" Harry scowled, swiveling to look at the two snickering teens across from him.

Crabbe and Goyle had grown so large now that they very nearly took up the entire bench by themselves.

"What's so funny?"

"Don't answer him," Draco said with a clipped tone, and Goyle shut his mouth with a frown.

Absolutely discomfited by Draco's behavior, Harry stood up. Before he could even touch the door, Draco said, "Harry, we're not making fun of you, nor do I actually believe that you'd ever date wizards, seeing that you were raised by _Muggles_. Theodore's told me about Muggle prejudice against such relationships… I believe he called it homophobia...?"

Harry leaned to glare eye-level at Draco. "I am _not_ homophobic. I think it's vile to want to kiss people."

Having stiffened, Draco laughed, and he covered his mouth looking as if he might be surprised with himself.

"You think that's funny, do you? I'll hex your ears to sprout hair if you don't shut up," Harry growled.

"My apologies. I've just _never_ heard someone over the age of ten say that before." Draco scooted over. "There. You can have your favorite spot by the window."

Raising an eyebrow, Harry squeezed past Crabbe and Goyle's knees to flop back onto the bench to look at the platform through the glass. There was a reason why Harry didn't immediately leave, even though he disliked the prat. Draco knew more about the goings-on in the Ministry of Magic and at Hogwarts, information that Harry knew he would need that year. The sooner he had it, the less time he had to spend with the prat.

"So… kissing is vile, is it?" Fierce curiosity gleamed in Draco's eyes.

"Like watching two carps with sticky frogs' tongues," Harry said, apprehensive that he was about to made fun of again.

"You've not had any _dreams_ either?"

At that, Harry scowled, refusing to tell Draco anything about the horrible 'dream' about Voldemort killing a Muggle. He was probably digging for information to pass to his father.

Draco seemed taken aback at the anger radiating from Harry. "I suppose not any _good_ ones then," he murmured. "I apologize for asking such a personal question, your Grace."

Harry turned his glare on Goyle, who quickly looked away, and then at Crabbe. Harry blinked, noticing for the first time that Crabbe's face was covered in red bumps and white dots. "You have pimples."

Crabbe grumbled wordlessly at him.

"He had them at the Finals match. I offered him a Zit-Clearing Salve but he won't use it," Draco said.

"No need to waste the stuff on my ugly mug," Crabbe growled.

"You aren't ugly," Harry said, "_You've_ still got your nose." He laughed at his own joke, but they all looked at him with varying degrees of wariness.

"Did you just…" Draco started to say.

"Call Lord Vole ugly? Yes, yes I did," Harry said and picked up a hand, miming his nose getting chopped off. "Imagine someone's dropped an anvil on your bone-white face, that you've got no hair at all, and your eyes are crimson-colored. I don't know why he did that to himself when his journal-self looked normal at sixteen. Then again, he _was_ just a face on the back of Quirrell's bald head at the time… maybe that has something to do with it."

"You… are ridiculous," Draco managed with a very stiff expression.

"What're you goin' to do when the Dark Lord rises an' you meet him?" Goyle said sounding worried, "Point a finger an' _laugh_?"

Harry's smile left him, since he remembered that Voldemort intended to use Harry's blood for something, something that would be predictably Dark and evil and horrible… "If I meet him and can't escape? I'd probably be cheeky. I don't think I could laugh at him, knowing all the evil he's done..."

"Enough," Draco demanded, "Tell me who you're bringing to the Yule Ball."

"Yule Ball?" This was the very first time he'd heard of such of an event.

Draco snorted. "Harry, weren't you even a little curious about what hosting the Triwizard Tournament meant for Hogwarts and the British Ministry of Magic?"

"I've been a _little_ preoccupied," he said hotly.

"So then, you _don't_ have a date. Are you planning to go… _stag_?" Draco teased. Crabbe and Goyle laughed.

"Ha, ha," Harry said dryly, recognizing the play on words meant as a jab at the form of prey Harry's Patronus took. "Likely. I'm not interested in a girlfriend—" When Draco's eyebrows lifted, Harry hastily added, "Or a boyfriend. I want to live through the school year intact."

"Without distractions that would certainly be easier. I understand that. What I haven't yet discovered is why you don't just finish your first tier of Magical Education with an army of private tutors." Draco peered at him. "You're not as stupid as you act."

"Because then I wouldn't get the experience of dealing with people my age," Harry said flippantly. "Besides, how would I know these hypothetical tutors weren't secretly planning to kill me? I'd think it'd be easier to do it when I'm not surrounded by other students."

Draco snorted. "That is the most Slytherin justification I've heard from you yet."

"Why?"

"We're all meat-shields masquerading as underage students to better protect your Grace," Draco said with a flourished hand. "The chances of poison or a cursed object reaching you are very low indeed around so many kleptomaniacs."

Harry was struck by how horrid that was… and yet he laughed. In the distance, a train whistle blew. The pistons hissed loudly as the Hogwarts Express began to move. As soon as the train had rolled out the station, heavy rain splattered onto the windows, making it very difficult to see out of them. Harry wondered where Sally-Anne and Theodore were. They usually made an effort to pop in to say 'hi'.

"Speaking of alternative education plans, Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts. He knows the headmaster, you see. And well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore—the man's such a Muggle-born lover—and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff."

"So, you would've been shipped to where? Bulgaria? Why aren't you there then?" Harry looked through the blurry panes of glass seeing grey and white buildings.

"My mother. You see, Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away."

"What's so great about Durmstrang?"

"Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do…"

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved farther north. Draco continued telling Harry all sorts of interesting information about Durmstrang and Beauxbatons and useful behind-the-scenes details of hosting the Triwizard Tournament; that is, the exasperating volume of paperwork, the extent of political grandstanding and bureaucratic flattery, and the obscene amount of bribes required to make the Triwizard Tournament happen.

The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry stood up to buy some cauldron cakes like he normally did.

"Anything from the trolley, dear?"

"Three—"

"Two Chocolate Frogs, a pack of Cream Nougats, and a Licorice Wand," Draco listed off and then paid the old witch, who handed him the items.

"What'd you like?" The witch asked Harry politely.

"Oh, er…"

"Two Pumpkin Pasties, please," a sweet voice interrupted him quietly.

Harry looked up and saw that it was Cho Chang, Ravenclaw's Seeker, and she looked really beautiful. She smiled at him and he smiled back, completely forgetting he wanted anything from the trolley at all.

"Anything sweet for you, dear?"

In a daze, Harry watched Cho Chang and her giggling friends go back down the hall. "Oh, no, I'm not hungry. Thank you." He slid the door shut and sat down, feeling off.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked as he chewed on the licorice wand.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, I'm fine," Harry smiled again. He wondered if Cho Chang would want to go to the Yule Ball with him.

"It's just… you're acting awfully _queer_ all of a sudden. I thought that perhaps you'd been sprayed with a Love Potion."

Harry's scar stung a little, and he lightly scratched it.

"Is that bothering you?"

"I'm fine," Harry said and smiled, forcing his hand to the seat.

"I am having difficulty believing you…"

"I can't imagine _why. _You don't trust anything but your own two eyes," an annoyed Harry said.

"Give me your wrist."

"What for?"

"Humor me."

Harry let him. Draco pressed two fingers against Harry's slow pulse, a skill likely acquired from his godfather.

"Is your scar hurting?"

"I told you; it's _fine_."

"And, you're lying; you know, I hate it when you lie to me," Draco said with an offended huff and released him. "You were _mooning_ over that Ravenclaw."

"I wasn't mooning over Cho Chang!" Harry felt his face heat up when Crabbe and Goyle began to chuckle.

With a shrewd look, Draco leaned against the chair cushion, appraising Harry. "I suggest you ask her to the Yule Ball before someone else gets the chance to. A pretty girl like that won't be on the market long."

Harry stood up and slid open the door.

"You're going to ask her _now_?"

"No. Need some fresh air. All this talk of dating's turned my stomach," Harry said. Having nothing better to do, he went to the luggage carriage to pull out his school robes. He took off his cloak and magically Switched out his clothes for school robes. Finished, he slipped the Spellfast cloak back around his shoulders, when he heard giggling towards the back of the carriage.

Harry blinked as the shadows formed into Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff's Quidditch Team Captain and Seeker, and the lovely Cho Chang. They were snogging, and rather heatedly too. Embarrassed and disgusted to have seen them, Harry hurried out of the luggage carriage and re-entered the passenger carriage. He had decided to find Sally-Anne and Theodore, but unfortunately a blond Pureblood was being a bloody prat.

"So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know… you'd be able to afford some decent dress robes if you won…" Draco taunted through a compartment door one down from theirs. Harry heaved a sigh and rubbed the place between his eyebrows.

"What are you talking about?" Ron's voice snapped.

"_Are you going to enter_?" Draco repeated more slowly.

"Either explain what you're on about or go away, Malfoy," came the redhead's sharp response.

"Don't tell me you don't know? I thought Longbottom or Granger would have said something to you." Harry could hear the glee in his voice as Harry pushed to get past Crabbe and Goyle, who didn't seem all that eager to move for him. "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even _know_, Weasley? _Merlin_, _my_ father told me about it ages ago… he heard it from Cornelius Fudge himself. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry… Maybe your father's too junior to know about it… yes… they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him. And I suppose you wouldn't dare to enter, Granger. You're too tame for a Lion and too cowardly—"

Hermione said something, before she was cut off by a furious Ron.

"_Cowardly?!" _Ron shouted. "That's like the kettle calling the cauldron black, you rat-faced git!"

"You've taken a barrel full of insults and have yet to hex me. That makes you a coward as well, doesn't it?" The prat's pale hand hovered near his wand holster. There was a roar of anger, the sound of scuffling coming from the Gryffindors' compartment.

"Draco! Leave them alone before I hex your nose off!" Harry yelled from behind Crabbe's thick elbow.

The other Slytherin laughed and turned away from the compartment, and Crabbe and Goyle parted like the Red Sea had before Moses. "Ah, there you are, Harry. I was bored when you left us alone."

The door of the compartment was slammed shut so hard that the glass all broke out. "_Ron!_" Hermione's yell was rather reproachful.

"Don't be angry with him, 'Mione. Draco riled him up again," Neville said right before the sound of glass repairing itself reached Harry's ears.

The four Slytherins re-entered the last compartment, and Goyle quietly shut the compartment door.

"There's no excuse for being a prat and you know it." Harry glared at Draco.

"Oh, are you going to lecture me, your Grace? Tell me to stop baiting him? What sort of replacement behaviors are you going to suggest to me? I can't wait to hear them."

Harry gave him an appalled look. "You sound _excited_…"

"I enjoy any practice in taking express advantage of loopholes."

"Here's a challenge for you: Find someone older than yourself from Slytherin to bait," Harry said. "Once you've angered them enough, challenge them to a duel. That way you get to practice your abysmal dueling skills while still keeping your tongue sharp."

"We're not supposed to bait our housemates. It's against the Code," Draco scoffed.

"That's your problem, isn't it?" Harry said. "Leave the Gryffindors alone this year."

Draco leaned intimidatingly closer to Harry, his grey eyes sparking. "And what… would you do in exchange? You already owe me two favors."

Harry was stunned because Draco was right. It had completely slipped his mind that he was in no position to negotiate when Draco had the upper hand. "What do you want?"

"I want you to be civil to our Head of House."

Giving Draco a long look, Harry scowled. "I won't."

"Not even if I use both my favors _and_ promise not to start fights with the Gryffindorks?"

Harry was sorely tempted... But it seemed too good to be true. "I don't think I could," he admitted. "Snape's been a git to me ever since Black was freed and you saw how he was like at the end of last year."

"Well… why don't we do a trial run then? I'll use a favor right away if you give a good effort in being polite and respectful to my godfather."

Harry sighed. "I don't know why you want me to be nice to him."

"We Slytherins need a consolidated front when the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students arrive. If you're constantly undermining Professor Snape, how would that look to an outsider?" Draco lifted an eyebrow.

"Like I'm a spoiled brat," Harry muttered, slightly covering his mouth with a cupped hand as he gazed at the patterns on the fabric of the bench seat by his leg.

"Precisely," Draco said loftily, "The Bulgarian Minister of Magic was making fun of Minister Fudge when he feigned excitement at your scar. To the foreign delegations, the Boy-Who-Lived is a miracle survivor of the Killing Curse and nothing more. You're a Magical Oddity, a quirky accident of Fate, not the Savior of the _entire_ Wizarding World. You've only saved the Isles of Magical Britain, you see. The Dark Lord wasn't interested in any other nations like the still-feared Grindelwald."

"Alright. I'll give it a go, but I won't be held responsible if Snape's being a bastard," Harry said. Goyle gave him an encouraging smile, while Crabbe was looking out the window, bored.

Thank goodness that the journey to Hogsmeade station didn't take much longer. Harry had grown moody apart from his best mates. Besides, Draco had already used up all the informative topics that Harry even remotely cared about and was now filling the compartment with his usual bluster. Soon the Hogwarts Express was slowing and came to a stop in the pitch-darkness. Harry heard Draco cast, _"Impervius!"_ over himself, Crabbe, and Goyle. As the train doors opened there was a rumble of thunder overhead. Harry pulled the hood up on his Spellfast cloak and they left the train together. The rain was coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads. Thank goodness for the Repellant Charm set into Harry's cloak or else he would have been miserably wet as well as cold.

"Hullo, Hagrid!" Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

"All righ', 'Arry?" Hagrid bellowed back, holding his giant lantern up high in the downpour. "See yeh at the feast if we don' drown!"

First years traditionally reached Hogwarts Castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid. Harry chuckled to himself.

"I heard the giant squid's friendly, you hack!" Draco yelled back, startling Harry.

Hagrid laughed and waved at them as the first years clustered around him.

Harry turned towards Draco in the dark rain. There was only the soggy light of the lanterns to help him make out the prat's cool expression. "There's a giant squid in Black Lake?"

"Please, how else would the headmaster be allowed to let eleven-year-olds cross that lake in this sort of weather?"

"I hope it _is_ friendly then," Harry said, slogging through the mud to the hundred carriages tethered to bizarre not-quite-horses waiting for them outside the station.

"Of course it's _friendly_," Draco said, "Didn't I just say it was?"

Snorting at Draco's disgusted tone, Harry climbed in after the three of them and shut the door with a snap. A few moments later, with a great lurch, their carriage was pulled, rumbling and sloshing its way up the muddy track towards Hogwarts Castle.

Through the gates, flanked with statues of winged boars—and free of any horrible dementors—the carriages trundled behind the strangely reptilian winged horses, swaying dangerously in what was fast becoming a gale. Leaning against the window which he had to draw his cloak across to look through, Harry could see Hogwarts coming nearer, its many lighted windows blurred and shimmering behind the thick curtain of rain. Lightning flashed across the sky as their carriage came to a halt, the black not-horse throwing its head back with a loud snort. Harry was surprised that Draco hadn't complained the whole trip up the sweeping drive, instead talking about the good and bad qualities of this girl or that from their own house. The great front doors of Hogwarts were open, and Harry could see students already hurrying up the stone steps into the castle. Maybe he would find Sally-Anne and Theodore inside… He missed them both quite terribly.


	4. Unpleasant Truths

_**Author's Notes: **Had fun coming up with new things...  
_

* * *

Pulling the hood of his cloak up, Harry opened the door of the carriage and jumped down onto the flooded gravel driveway. He wasn't in any hurry to rush up the steps since the rain stayed off of him, and he was enjoying the silent hiss and droplets of water spraying him as the intermittent thunder rumbled in the air around him. He carelessly splashed through the water with his Dragon-hide boots. The Slytherins made it up the slick stone stairs. Once inside, he pulled the hood down and looked up with a deep satisfied breath. He'd missed the cavernous, torch-lit Entrance Hall with its magnificent marble staircase. He stopped by Salazar Slytherin's painting and bowed. "Hello, Mr. Slytherin."

"Good evening, Harry Potter," the painting responded in heavily accented English. "Are these your friends?"

Draco gasped beside him. Harry turned with a grin, gesturing towards his roommate. "This is Draco, the thirty-second heir of the Malfoys, and his entourage, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. They're fourth-year Slytherins like me."

Somebody made a small squeak of noise and grabbed Harry by the shoulder. "Are you introducing me too?" came Theodore's delighted voice.

"Theodore Nott," Harry said with a grin. "The only other fourth-year Slytherin boy." He shot an annoyed look at him. Theodore's lips looked curiously swollen, and there was a small bruise forming against his neck. He didn't look as though he'd gotten into a fight. Why was he out of breath?

"I bid you a good evening on this fine day," Salazar Slytherin said.

"Fine?" Draco echoed. "It's raining like the dickens!"

The ancient wizard smiled slowly. "Yes, without the rain our lands would have become deserts by now… Unless you prefer to live as our Middle-Eastern brethren do…"

Someone cleared their throat loudly. "Potter…"

"And _that_ is our Head of House, Severus Snape," Harry said, "I've told you about him, haven't I?"

"We've met," Salazar Slytherin said, his expression one of oblique amusement.

"Potter, get in the Great Hall so the Sorting Ceremony may commence…" Snape growled as his eyes flashed dangerously. "And might I suggest that you curb your penchant for arrogant posturing…?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said mustering a polite tone. He bowed towards the painting, who nodded, and went up the steps to the Great Hall without another word, the rest of his roommates following and chatting excitedly about the animated portrait behind him.

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the Start-of-Term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in midair. The four long House tables were packed with chattering students; at the High Table, the staff sat along one side, facing their pupils. It was nicely warm inside. It appeared that this year the Gryffindors and Slytherins had been placed on opposite sides of the Great Hall. Harry sat at the Slytherin Table on the far right against the windowless wall. Pearly white and translucent, the Bloody Baron was already floating above their table, appearing expectant to know who the newly Sorted Slytherins would be this year. "Good evening," the ghost said to them as they finally sat down at the table.

"Is it?" Harry said, taking off his mud-caked Dragon-hide boots and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

He was aware that Theodore and Draco were having a heated discussion like they had on the walk to the Quidditch Stadium, but he chose to ignore what they arguing about. "I would have thought you'd be curious about the Sorting since you've never been able to witness one yet," the gaunt-faced Bloody Baron said to him.

"Oh, I'm looking forward to it," Harry agreed, "I only hope it doesn't take too long." He carefully cast a Drying Charm on his boots and soaked socked feet. They instantly dried. The clumped dirt was cleared with a Cleaning Charm

"Hiya, Harry!" A breathless, highly excited voice called from behind him.

Harry blinked. It was Colin Creevey, a third-year Gryffindor to whom Harry was something of a hero. "Hullo, Creevey," Harry said. The boy had always left him feeling worn down.

"It's Colin!" The teen let out an exasperated sigh. "Harry, guess what, guess what? My brother's starting! My brother Dennis is to be Sorted in a few minutes!"

"Er… good for him," Harry said.

"He's really excited!" Creevey said, practically bouncing up and down where he stood, a Muggle camera jostling against his chest. Harry wondered how he had kept the rain off of it. Maybe a slicker? "I just hope he's in Gryffindor!"

"Er—yeah, all right," Harry agreed, "I'd get back to your table before Professor McGonagall scolds you."

"Okay!" The boy said cheerfully and darted back to the other side of the Great Hall.

"Just so long as he's not in Slytherin," Draco said as an aside. "A Muggle-born doesn't deserve a place in our ranks."

"You're worried about his blood purity?" Sally-Anne asked with mirth. Harry noticed that the collar of the shirt beneath her robes oddly went up to her chin and that her lips were slightly reddened. He wondered if she had started staining her lips like he'd seen older teenaged girls do before. "I'd be more concerned about whether this Dennis is like his older brother," she quipped.

When Draco scowled at her, Harry laughed. "So, Daphne, is it common for brothers and sisters to get Sorted into the same House?" On the topic of siblings being Sorted, Harry thought of Daphne's sister, Astoria Greengrass, in Slytherin and the five Weasleys, who'd gone through Gryffindor.

"As a general trend, yes. But you have times where those to be Sorted want to be placed elsewhere, such as the Patil twins. And then there's people like Sirius Black…" Sally-Anne paused with a frown, adjusting her glasses.

"He was in Gryffindor," Harry supplied.

"The entire Black family had been through Slytherin before he was Sorted there," Pansy said. As usual she was sitting across from Harry, flanked on either side by Daphne and Tracey. The ever-reading Bulstrode had chosen to sit across from Goyle. "Kind of like how you were Sorted Slytherin when Potters were often Sorted Gryffindor or, more rarely, Hufflepuff."

Tracey nodded. "Later, Sirius Black was disowned before he became of age for siding with the wrong sort."

"I see…" Harry hoped his being in Slytherin wouldn't cause problems between him and Sirius. He didn't think it would, judging by how his godfather treated him last year. More than anything he wished the trial would finish before the first school term was up. Then Harry could spend Christmas Holiday with his godfather.

He looked up at the staff table. There were quite a few empty seats, since Hagrid was still leading the first years across the lake and Professor McGonagall was likely waiting for them to arrive. There was tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra who had Astronomy expertise. To her other side was the Muggle Studies teacher, and to her left was Professor Vector. Next to the Arithmancy professor was Professor Snape, Potions Master and Harry's least favorite person in Hogwarts. After last year, Harry dislike of the man was matched only by Snape's loathing of him.

On the other side of Snape was Professor Babbling the Study of Ancient Runes teacher, and beside her sat Professor Dumbledore, at the very center of the table. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts. His sweeping silver hair and beard shone in the candlelight, his magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.

The tips of Dumbledore's long, thin finger were together and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. Harry glanced up at the enchanted ceiling, too. Harry had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across is, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it.

The Great Hall doors opened and silence fell like a heavy curtain. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the front of the Hall where a three-legged stool sat in front of the headmaster. The first years appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailed. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table. They came to a halt, and many of them turned to look at the tables full of students with wide eyes.

They all had various looks of misery or dissatisfaction upon their countenances, except for the smallest boy of the lot, a painfully excited boy with mousy hair who was wrapped in what Harry recognized as Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. The boy's small face protruded from over the collar of the coat which appeared like a furry black circus tent around his frame. Harry saw him mouth, _I fell in the lake!_, at someone in Gryffindor and give a double thumbs-up. Harry couldn't help the chortle bubble up from his chest at the boy's antics. He thought he might be Sorted into Hufflepuff if he wasn't in Gryffindor.

Professor McGonagall now placed an extremely old, dirty, and patched wizard's hat on the stool. The first years stared at it, as did everyone else. Then a long tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth in the silence, and the hat broke into song. Harry learned more about where the founders were from and why they'd made the hat _'While still alive they did divide / Their favorites from the throng, / Yet how to pick the worthy ones / When they were dead and gone?_' Harry found himself surprised that it was Godric Gryffindor's idea to create the Sorting Hat. When the hat finally finished, Harry looked thoughtful after hearing its last quatrain... '_Now slip me snug about your ears, / I've never yet been wrong, / I'll have a look inside your mind / And tell where you belong!'_

The Great Hall rang with applause when the Sorting Hat finished.

Harry certainly was fitting in better among the Slytherins; something he hadn't thought was possible after being Sorted his first year. It really wasn't so bad being a Viper if a person discounted the constant suspicion against them and the expectation that they were all destined to become villains.

There were several now-graduated Slytherins who certainly didn't fall into that category. Gilbert, for one, had expressed his desire once to Harry about becoming a curse-breaker. Pitts was another; she had desired to become a Healer to those afflicted by curses. And despite Flint's Neanderthal looks, he relied mainly on Quidditch strategies rather than brute strength to win matches, unlike his successor Graham Montague. None of these now-alumni had given off the air of desiring villainy despite their surly, blunt manners.

"Is it normal for the hat to sing a different song at each Sorting?" Harry asked as he clapped politely.

"It has so far," Sally-Anne replied.

At the front of the hall before the staff table, Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment and telling the first years how the Sorting process worked. One by one each first year was Sorted. The first Slytherin was the second in line: Malcolm Baddock. Harry cheered and clapped along with the rest of his table to welcome the overwhelmed-looking first year. There was another name before 'Creevey, Dennis!' had been announced. Perking up, he looked up to see it was the mousy boy, who had worn Hagrid's overcoat and had since returned it. As soon as the Sorting Hat was placed on the small boy's head, the hat announced "SLYTHERIN!"

"_No_," Draco said. His face looked disgusted by the prospect.

"Oh, _yes_," Theodore responded, unaffected by Draco's blistering glare. "It's about time we had proud Muggle-borns in our house."

"Proud?" Harry asked.

"It's people like our dear Draco that drive others to pretend they've got ancient magical bloodlines—"

"Dennis! Dennis!"

Ignoring Draco's rather heated ranting about proper bloodlines, Harry looked up to see Colin Creevey bouncing up and down excitedly on the sitting bench at the Gryffindor table.

"See that boy over there?" The Gryffindor bellowed, pointing towards Harry. "The one by the ghost on the other side of the Hall? _Know who he is, Dennis?!_"

"Mr. Creevey! Sit down!" Professor McGonagall was not pleased to be interrupted mid-announcement of the name of the next child to be Sorted. The grinning Gryffindor sat down, nonplussed by how his housemates were whispering and glancing furtively in Dennis' direction.

And the scouting first year was quite suddenly by Harry's side.

"Hello, Creevey," the Bloody Baron said solemnly.

"Hi!" Dennis chirped up at the ghost and then didn't give him a second glance. "My brother's told me all about you, Harry. It's too bad Colin wasn't Sorted here; he's missing out since he can't see you much when you spend loads of time in the Slytherin Dungeons. Will you teach me the Disarming Charm? Colin said you're absolutely the _best_."

The Sorting continued, and Harry wasn't sure how to respond to the overeager boy beyond 'Er.' and 'Um.'

"I already know a lot about Astronomy; Colin's taught me a bunch! But he said you're the smartest, most loyal Slytherin of the lot and that—"

"Welcome to the Slytherin House, Dennis," Theodore interrupted. Then, Harry's werewolf friend waved his wand, and Dennis' robes were no longer wet. "That ought to be better. So your parents are Muggles?"

"Thanks! And, yeah, but dad's fine with it now that he knows why the oddest things would happen around us." The first year, not to be so easily dissuaded, turned back to Harry. "You'll teach me that spell too, won't you? The others said that Slytherins hate people like me, but I don't really care. Besides, Colin said you wouldn't let any of them hurt me."

"Gravy said that, did he?" Draco's face was pinched as if he were speaking to a pile of horse manure.

"Yeah! Harry Potter's best friends with Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born just like me, and he defends her all the time." Dennis turned his excited brown eyes upon Harry. "Can we be best friends too?"

"Er," Harry said not knowing what to do, while his fellow Slytherins continued to clap each time a new first year joined their table. If he outright rejected Dennis, no doubt Draco would use that as an excuse to make the first year's life at Hogwarts an interminable hell.

"Aw, cute. You've got another fan," Theodore said, winking at Sally-Anne who rolled her eyes at the ceiling.

"Another ickle little Potterhead," Draco mocked.

"Oh shut it," Harry groused.

"I'm not a Potterhead; I'm a Pleasant Pal! Wait a sec!" Dennis dug into his robes and held out his PP's PP badge like a token of honor before pinning it to his robes. "See?"

That sent Harry's roommates into helpless snickering; it would've been unwise to gather Professor McGonagall's ire and so muffled their amusement so as not to disrupt the Sorting Ceremony.

Harry pressed a hand against his face. Why couldn't the small boy have been Sorted into Gryffindor?

"You'd be the very first Slytherin to join that club," Sally-Anne informed the puzzled boy, when the excitement he seemed to expect didn't come.

"Huh. But it's the best of the Potter fan clubs, since not everyone's from the same House, and we're the most active. And George said it makes for great networking opportunities, and they have a band of smugglers too you can join. Sounds exciting don't you think?"

Draco looked towards the small boy with the eyes of someone who hadn't expected to hear those words. "Smuggling…? _You_?"

Dennis smirked. "Jealous? You'd have to be a Pleasant Pal. Too bad you aren't. Maybe you should join!"

The Malfoy heir continued to blink at the diminutive boy as if he didn't know quite what to do with him.

'Pritchard, Graham!' was the last boy to join the Slytherin table. There were only about ten students left to be Sorted.

"So," Dennis said, "Now that we're best mates—"

"What?" Harry's face crinkled at the first year. He didn't recall agreeing to that.

"I've always wanted to say that you're _the best. _I wish we were brothers, and I'd be a lot cooler younger brother than Neville Longbottom," gushed the boy, who then hugged Harry. The Boy Who Lived had faced many things; a pushy and persistent fan was not one of them. "And if you want me to do anything at all, it'll be done!"

"Look," Draco said harshly, "You little Chiz-bitten—"

Thankfully, Prefect Sykes appeared before Draco could say something nastier. "Dennis Creevey, all the first years are to eat together," she said, shooting Draco a sharp look. He merely slipped his most charming smile on.

"But, Harry doesn't mind me at all, do you, Harry?" Dennis' eyes widened, taking on a quality of a watery-eyed pup.

"Erm," Harry said, uncomfortable. "Actually—I was hoping to eat with my mates. I haven't seen them all year," he lied, since he had certainly seen some of them during the Quidditch World Cup.

"Oh," the first year deflated, looking quite put out as if he recognized Harry's lie for what it was. "I'll stop annoying you. Sorry. I'll see you later then!" He hopped off the bench next to Harry and was escorted by the prefect to the group of first years. He kept sneaking glances over his shoulder in Harry's direction.

Harry let out a relieved sigh. Now he was absolutely famished. His year-mates expressed various degrees of amusement at his situation. He scowled at them.

"Congratulations on acquiring an authentic toebiter," Draco said, dripping sarcasm.

"If I had one, I'd want one just as adorable. Wouldn't you, Sally-Anne?" Theodore pressed his nose against the side of her head.

The brunette swiped him away. "I doubt it. He'd get under foot all the time."

"I certainly would like a manservant to carry my things everywhere," Pansy said distantly. "Too bad Flippy's not allowed at Hogwarts. It doesn't seem fair not to allow one's personal house-elf onto the grounds."

"It's not fair to the rest of us who don't have one," Tracey said.

Draco snorted. "Not to mention that you own _three_. Hardly fair at all."

A smile came across Pansy's face. "If _your_ family owned a breeding farm, you could have as many as you like."

"Why else do you think his father proposed a marriage contract to your father?" Daphne said with a feral grin.

"You bint," Draco growled, "Stay out—"

"Maybe your father should have forked over the money for a proper Occlumency tutor instead of relying on your mummy-dearest," the natural Legilimens said sweetly. "Poor little dragon…"

"You _dare—"_ The blond hissed out.

Theodore grabbed Draco's right arm before he yanked out his wand.

'Shastri, Bhupen' was the last girl to join the Slytherins, while all three of Daphne's friends looked coolly at Draco.

"Afraid to challenge her to a duel, little dragon?" Tracey said mockingly.

Harry held his breath when Draco tensed and fought to free his arm to no avail. "Unhand me," the blond spat at Theodore.

"Can't do that. Not when I know you'll hex them on the spot."

Meanwhile, the last two names of the Sorting were called. Farther down the table, Prefect Renshaw cast a Drying Charm on the last shivering first year. She thanked him and sat with the others.

Not to be left out, Pansy murmured, "Draco Malfoy the cowardly dragon." Her friends snorted and giggled next to her.

Unable to free himself from Theodore's strong grip, Draco grabbed his empty goblet and it filled. He took a small sip, eyes narrowed at them. "You will regret this."

"Hah! You wouldn't dare."

At that moment, Professor Dumbledore stood up and was smiling at the students, most of whom had silenced, his arms opened wide in welcome. "I have only two words to say to you," he said in his deep voice, which reverberated through the Great Hall, "Tuck in!"

"Hear, hear!" Sally-Anne proclaimed as the dishware magically filled before their eyes. Thinking the impasse was over, Harry stuffed his face eagerly, not caring a bit about blasted manners. While he was Hogwarts, he would eat as sloppily as he wanted _without_ someone giving him buckets!

Quick as lightning, Draco tossed the goblet, contents and all, at the three teenagers. Theodore lunged forward, grabbing the gold goblet by the bottom before it smashed into Daphne's nose.

The golden liquid splashed onto the trio who yelped as soon as it touched their flawless skin. Pansy's nose grew crooked and pug-like and her lips thinned, her rosy cheeks turning pale and her hair streaked with grey; Daphne's cheeks grew fatter and her nose sprouted a field of red sores and acne; and a shiny, jagged scar appeared on Tracey's face from her right cheekbone down her chin and neck as if the skin had been melted. Tracey pulled up her cloak and hunched her shoulders, covering her face.

Draco cackled as if watching Tracey cry was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. "Yaxley wouldn't have thrown that flask of Bundimun Acid on you if you hadn't refused his marriage proposal, you ugly Half-blood bitch."

While Harry gaped at Draco's dumb fearlessness, an enraged Pansy stood up, whipping out her curved violet-blue wand in a practiced motion. "_Furnunculus_!" she shrieked.

Immediately Draco's triumphant face was covered in crusty, grey boils, swelling his pale skin into layers of bark-like, brittle pimples. With one look at his face, Crabbe burst into laughter. Goyle's eyes were large as they darted between them. Draco touched his face, his upper lip curling with contempt. "_You dare_? My father—"

Standing, Sally-Anne with a look of intense concentration swung her wand through a complex wand-form over Draco. "_Avifors," _her voice cut out with uncharacteristic sharpness. There was a flash and a blond nightingale perched on the table where Draco once was. Theodore snapped out a hand to catch the bird before it could fly away. Sally-Anne put her wand away, sitting down to finish eating as the bird squawked its displeasure.

The rain was drumming heavily against the high, dark glass across from Harry, who had remained motionless. He had never felt so repulsed by Draco than he had in that moment.

"Who is responsible for Malfoy's current form?" It was Head Girl Dedworth and she looked extremely displeased.

"I am," Pansy answered with uncharacteristic harshness before Sally-Anne could. Sally-Anne's eyes fluttered in surprise. "That arse threw Fawley's Nectar on us!"

"Parkinson, you have detention every evening for the rest of the month, excepting Sundays and Astronomy lessons," the Head Girl said. She didn't sound like she cared what had started it.

"But that's not fair!" Harry protested on their behalf, "Draco threw that stuff on them to make them look terrible and was absolutely foul to Tracey!"

Ignoring him, the Head Girl told the affected trio, "Go to the infirmary with Prefect Sykes." A grim-faced Bulstrode left with her friends, all of them surrounding a subdued Tracey, whose scarred face was hidden in the depths of the cowl of her robes. Then the Head Girl held out a hand for the squirming panicked bird, which Theodore passed to her. The bird immediately began to peck at her gloved hand. "And you, Malfoy, your godfather will see about a proper punishment."

Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates as the remains of the first course vanished and were replaced, instantly, with a course of dessert.

Professor Snape had appeared silently beside Dedworth. His long fingers wrapped about his Transfigured godson. He waved a wand over the bird and it slumped in his hand. "Perhaps we'll fit a cage about him until he's gained a healthy respect for the fairer sex," he murmured towards the Head Girl who grinned. After one look at Crabbe and Goyle, the Slytherin Head of House strolled out of the Great Hall, the bird's light yellow feathers sticking through the fingers of his closed fist. Draco's two lackeys abandoned their desserts and stumbled from their places to catch up.

Theodore frowned at Sally-Anne. "Sal, he'll be out for your blood now. Why'd you go and do something silly like that?"

_Sal_? Harry thought.

She shrugged, taking another bite of her ice cream. "Let him. I'll wipe the floor with Draco when he underestimates me." She sent a glare at Harry, who startled. "And before you start making an arse out of yourself, at least know what you're talking about."

Harry scowled. "Just say what you mean. No need to beat around the bush."

"Fawley's Nectar, also called Lovelorn Liquor, is a high-nutrient stimulant and also one of the few substances that can wash away enchantments created by potions," she said sounding very put upon.

He blinked, recalling what Draco had said about someone throwing acid on Tracey. "…Oh." So then, the substance had revealed their true faces… How long had they worn pretty, false masks to hide their faces beneath? Other than vanity, Harry didn't understand why anyone would bother to cover up faces that weren't exceedingly hideous to look upon. Daphne and Pansy had looked rather normal to him.

"Do you even know why I'm angry with you?" When Harry frowned, she sighed some of the venom leaving her tone. "I'm angry because you could have ended it before the fight went anywhere. Why didn't you do anything?"

"He surprised me," Harry said lamely. "And what was I supposed to do? It got out of hand quicker than I could react."

Sally-Anne snorted. "While Theo had his hands full, you could've used a Freezing Charm on them and stopped them instantly."

"Why didn't you?"

"I gave you an example of what you could have done so don't you turn this on me. At least, I _did _something."

Harry swallowed. She was right, of course. Simply telling Draco to stop had never worked before, but Harry was leery about challenging him to a duel now that Snape backed his rotten godson so Harry couldn't exactly make Draco obey him by dueling fiat as he had done in previous years. "Alright. I admit that I botched that. I'll have my wand ready next time."

Sally-Anne's shoulders relaxed. Then she turned her face away and muttered, "To be honest, you wouldn't have to hex him."

He blinked at her. When the young witch drank heavily from her cup instead of clarifying her statement, Theodore said, "I suppose you _haven't_ noticed that you're the only one Draco listens to besides Professor Snape and the prefects."

Harry quashed the denial before it left his lips. Ever since he had pushed Draco out of the way of the hippogriff, the other Slytherin had treated Harry with his harsh brand of friendliness, more authentic than the niceties that Draco had given Harry their first two years at Hogwarts. It was edged with malice and tempered with greed. Instead of ridiculing Harry's knowledge of the Muggle world, Draco had listened and suggested that Harry profit from it. Like Hermione who had been indignant that the Dursleys had escaped justice by the Muggle courts, Draco cared enough about Harry's mistreatment by Muggles to try to prevent others from facing the same fate, albeit by removing magical children from their Muggle families. And, the bloody prat had gotten himself a once-abused house-elf.

Glancing once at Theodore who was murmuring something into Sally-Anne's reddened ear, Harry began to eat his then-untouched treacle pudding. Either Draco was trying his hardest to slip into Harry's good graces or this was the prat's version of genuine friendship. Whichever it was, Harry still would not trust him, especially considering how cruel the prat was to the trio of Slytherin teens who had dared to tease him.

Once the desserts had disappeared, and the last bits had faded from the dishes, leaving them sparkling clean, the headmaster got to his feet once more. The buzz of chatter filling the Great Hall ceased almost at once, so that only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard.

"So!" Albus Dumbledore said, smiling at them once more. "Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices."

"Wonder what he's going to warn us about this year," Theodore muttered with a stern grimness. "Besides the Tourney, I mean."

"As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all those below third year. In addition, Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has added to the list of objects forbidden inside the castle this year, it now includes Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises of some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch's office, if anybody would like to check to see if they have contraband items."

Harry didn't miss the wide grins on the Weasley twins' faces as they high-fived one another when the headmaster began to list the banned items.

"Furthermore, due to a persistent, unwanted intruder last year, an additional measure to Hogwarts' Security Linkages has been added."

Murmuring from the students, especially the prefects, increased.

He raised his hands for their silence. "Every House now has a contingent of no less than twenty Opalescent Lionsnakes. Professor Sprout certifies that they are free of disease or ailments. These snakes are for your protection from unwanted presences or express danger to your persons. They will not attack a student unless threatened first…" Professor Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the silent students. "I strongly recommend you do not harass them… their bites are lethal as are their stingers and their featherless quills have a paralyzing effect that lasts for many days at the very least."

The Hufflepuffs immediately began to scream, not in fear, but with elation. Harry saw that many of them were jumping up from their benches hugging one another happily. Harry was perplexed at their reaction. The Ravenclaws looked unwell as they shot suspicious glares at the Slytherins, while the Gryffindors mostly looked bewildered. Poor Neville was looking rather peaky…

Sally-Anne shuddered. "Those Badgers are entirely too excited."

"When do you ever get the chance to live among Lionsnakes?" Theodore countered, placing a hand on her shoulder. "They'll keep most other Dark Creatures out too. We won't have to worry about lethifolds sneaking in and suffocating us in our sleep."

Harry gave Theodore a puzzled look.

"It happens more frequently than people admit," he said matter-of-factly. When Harry frowned at him, Theodore said, "It's my boggart, you know?"

Harry blinked, remembering the darkness that seeped and clung to Theodore's legs, sucking him into the floor. So _that_ had been a lethifold.

"You didn't know?" Sally-Anne said. "What have you been doing with the book Theo gave you for your birthday last year?"

"It has well over two hundred thousand entries in it. Most experts don't even know everything in it," Theodore said brightly.

"But you do." Sally-Anne smiled. "It's too bad that you won't be able to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts once you've graduated. I think you'd be good at it."

"Yeah, too bad about that," the werewolf said distantly as he looked at Sally-Anne and she at him.

Bright blue fireworks popped and crackled from the end of the headmaster's wand. Harry looked up as the Great Hall silenced around them.

"Thank you," Professor Dumbledore said as the corners of his mouth twitched. "It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year."

"WHAT?!" Several students from other tables exclaimed unhappily. Others seemed too shocked to speak.

The headmaster went on, "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year. It will take up much of the teachers' time and energy—but I am sure you will enjoy this event immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts—"

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder _inside_the Great Hall and the enchanted ceiling let out several bright flashes of light.

A great spiral of energy shot out from someone's wand from the doorway beside the staff table. The enchanted ceiling went silent, and a wizard, shrouded in a black traveling cloak, was seen tucking his wand away. His right eye was very strange and bulbous, and he was leaning upon a long staff. Every head in the Great Hall had swiveled toward the stranger.

"Look who the dogs brought in," Theodore muttered under his breath. "It's Mad-Eye Moody."

Harry glanced at him. "Who?"

"Ex-Auror. Word on the streets has him facing off a couple of Bewitched Muggle trashbins almost a week ago. But he's retired now. He must owe Dumbledore a favor to come work here."

"Auror?" Both of Neville's parents and his father had been one, but he didn't know exactly what the work entailed.

"I knew I forgot to do something…" Theodore said brushing his chin.

"What?"

"The petition for the Wizard Studies class."

"But you said you already—oh, you git, you're having me on, aren't you?"

Theodore winked. "You're too easy."

Sally-Anne said, "Professor Dumbledore told us it was a good idea. I expect that it won't be offered until next year since it'll take time to develop a curriculum for it and get it through the school governors."

"To answer your question, Harry, an Auror is a Dark Wizard catcher. Nearly half of Azkaban is filled because of Mad-Eye Moody. One benefit is that we shouldn't have to worry about him this year. He's a… _good_ _guy_," Theodore said. His lips twisted with displeasure. So… Theodore didn't much care for Moody.

"Ah…" Harry said. The fact that their new DADA professor was excellent at catching Dark Wizards and was friends with Professor Dumbledore also lowered the chances of Voldemort replacing Moody with his own Polyjuiced servant.

A dull _clank_ echoed through the Great Hall on his every other step. Professor Moody reached the end of the High Table, turned left, and limped heavily toward Professor Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning brought the wizard's features into sharp relief. His face was much more grotesque than Tracey's disfigurement. Every inch of his face seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash and a large chunk of the nose was missing. The bulbous eye was electric blue and was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, rolling this way and that, quite independent of Moody's normal, dark beady left eye. At one point, the magical eye rolled to the back of his head, and all Harry could see was a completely white back of it. The stranger stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Professor Dumbledore shook it.

"Ah, my dear old friend. Thanks for coming."

"Stupid ceiling," Moody spat out, looking up at the enchanted sky. After dropping the headmaster's hand, the awkward and twitchy man stood off to the side, giving the students a look of profound suspicion. Moody popped open a flask and drank some of its contents. The adult then shook his head as if to clear it. It probably _wasn't_ pumpkin juice.

"Let me introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody," Professor Dumbledore said sunnily into the silence.

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but only Hagrid and the headmaster clapped. The sound echoed dismally into the cavernous Great Hall.

"Looks like the wizards and witches he brought in didn't come willingly…" Harry muttered with a dark expression as the new professor continued scanning the Great Hall, particularly the Slytherin Table as if a Death Eater might leap out at him.

"How do you mean?" Sally-Anne gave him a puzzled look. "I mean, _of course_ they wouldn't come willingly. It's Azkaban. No witch or wizard alive would go _willingly._"

_Besides Hagrid_, Harry mentally amended. "I mean that they must have fought him with everything they had. Dark Magic maims and disfigures you for life, _if_ you survive. You can see he's had his fair share of tough fights," he responded. Instead of looking at Professor Moody, his friends both looked at the scar on Harry's forehead, as if the topic had reminded them of the very Dark magic that had touched Harry as a baby. He took his goblet and had a large swig of juice waiting for them to stop looking.

The smattering of turgid applause finally died. Professor Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Their headmaster cleared his throat. "As I was saying," he said smiling at the sea of students before him, most of whom were gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, "We are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

"You're JOKING!" One of the Weasley twins exclaimed loudly.

The tension that had filled the Great Hall ever since Moody arrived suddenly broke, and nearly everyone laughed.

Professor Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively, "I am _not_, Mr. Weasley. Though, now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all entered a bar…"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat very loudly.

"Er… Where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament… well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do _will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely."

Harry thought this 'event' sounded entirely too dangerous for him, _especially_ since Voldemort seemed to want him involved somehow. Since he had learned as much as he wanted from Draco about it—one of most interest was the use of a powerful magical artifact bewitched by Rowena Raveclaw herself to draw the names of the three contenders—Harry completely tuned out the headmaster's inordinately long description. He looked around noticing that everyone seemed rather focused on Professor Dumbledore's words. Harry glanced at the Bloody Baron who did not look very amused or excited to hear about the Triwizard Tournament.

"Bloody Baron, is something wrong?" Harry whispered.

The solemn ghost floated closer to him. "Someone always dies during the Triwizard Tournament, no matter the precautions set in place. It's foolish to think that this time will be any different."

Harry made a sympathetic noise as he heard the headmaster drone on and on about this special event which apparently would win a special contender a thousand Galleons and eternal glory and such things that Harry didn't care about at all. "Oh?"

"Nearly four centuries ago, an eleven year old Slytherin perished in quite a grisly manner when her name came out of the Goblet of Fire… Ever since, no Slytherin has attempted the challenge in respectful memory of her." The ghost's slow voice was clearly unhappy to be remembering that very moment, which was why Harry didn't ask him for details about the girl.

"And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning." Professor Dumbledore clapped his hands. "Bedtime! Chop, chop!"

Adding to a great scraping and banging, Harry and his fellow Slytherins—excluding a couple prefects and the first years—got to their feet and swarmed towards the double doors of the Great Hall with the rest of the students. Around him, sixth- and seventh-year Slytherins were discussing the upcoming Triwizard Tournament. They were asking one another if they were going to enter into it as they entered the Entrance Hall. The general consensus was that it was an insane idea to do so due to the illustrious history of a third of the participants dying in their attempt. Harry waved at the portrait of Salazar Slytherin in the Entrance Hall and headed down the stairs to the dungeons.

Someone ahead of Harry told the Thin Lady the password, and she swung open for the rest of them to gain entrance. Straight ahead was a fire cheerily burning; Harry went down the steps into the warm common room where the rest of the Slytherins stood. Harry had missed this last year since he'd been forced to sleep in the infirmary after the first dementor attack. He lined up behind the third years as they waited for Professor Snape to appear. Appearing back to their normally enchanted selves, Pansy, Tracey, Daphne, and Bulstrode hurried down the steps from the portrait-hole to join the three fourth-years already lined up behind the third years. Pike Lestrange waved once with a shy grin to Harry, who smiled and nodded. Then the Slytherin Head of House appeared, the remaining trio of fourth years trailing behind him.

A scowling Draco chose to stand on the opposite side of their line as far from the girls as possible. Goyle stood next to Harry, sending a grimace to him. Harry wondered how they'd be punished.

Then there came the usual welcome-to-the-viper's-nest and responsibility-as-role-models spiel. Harry was glad that he'd missed last year's lecture. At least the Sorting Hat and Professor Dumbledore knew how easily bored people were by bloody monotony. "And Potter, do us all the favor and do not attempt to defeat the precautions put in place for the Triwizard Tournament."

He snorted. "Why would I? It sounds like a death trap, sir."

The Slytherins around Harry sniggered quietly. He shot them a perplexed look.

"That being said," their Head of House said nastily, "If I find out that any of you has placed Potter's name into the running, your life will be as unpleasant and unbearable as possible for your remaining time at Hogwarts. Furthermore," and here Snape looked at the fifth years and older, "I will use such an action as grounds for _immediate_ expulsion."

Not one of them laughed. Harry begrudgingly respected the wizard for attempting to make this year at Hogwarts a bit safer. Not that it ever worked before, but he had to give the adult credit for persistence.

"Now, as for these purported Lionsnakes, I have seen neither scale nor fang. However, bear in mind the headmaster's warnings. I have not yet collected enough Lionsnake components to prepare an antidote for neither its venom nor paralysis agents. _Do not bait them_."

Professor Snape's fingers flicked to the wall to their right. "Furthermore, the most ancient wizard and great Founder of our House has requested that his painting be placed here within the common room. On your own time you may converse with Salazar Slytherin; however, do not pester him needlessly or _I_ shall know. I have barrels of potions components to prepare this year and I'd be delighted to assign one to each of you..." Snape smiled unpleasantly down his nose, his beady black eyes looking directly at each of them.

The stately portrait of a very tall and wide bookcase also held within it the bald-headed Founder Harry had only just addressed in the Entrance Hall. Salazar Slytherin bowed slightly in greeting to them, and every one of Harry's housemates bowed deeply. Excited chattering sprang up around them.

"Silence," Snape snapped. "Your youngest siblings will arrive any moment."

Professor Snape worked with predictable efficiency; Once the timid first years were marched in, he repeated to the first years what he'd told Harry and his year-mates their first year, subtracting the bit about the Quidditch Cup and adding a bit about _not _emulating the Boy-Who-Lived. Ignoring the pointed look from their Head of House, Dennis was squirming in place with excitement as he kept looking hopefully at Harry. As soon as Snape dumped the work of explaining the House rules to the prefects, Harry and the other Slytherins rushed to the dormitory stairwells. Crabbe and Goyle pushed the others away to make room for Draco, who looked unaffected by his short time Transfigured as a bird.

On the fourth landing, Harry entered through the black door with the snake-shaped door knocker. Someone had already charmed the lanterns to hold a cheery, orange flame before Harry could get to them. Five four-poster beds with deep emerald hangings stood against the walls, each with its owner's trunk at the foot. Crabbe and Goyle were already under their bed covers. For once, Draco wasn't very chatty for their first night back.

Harry changed into the Slytherin night robes he'd gotten for his birthday and crawled into bed. Theodore cast a quick '_Nox'_ and the lights went out. Someone had placed warming pans between the mattresses. It was extremely comfortable, lying there in bed and listening to the thunder rumbling from beyond the window beside his bed.

"I think I might've put my name in, if we were allowed," Theodore told the darkness.

"You're allowed to think that because you're insane," Draco said.

"Insanely good at dealing with Dark Creatures, you mean," Theodore said with an amused tone.

"Would you all shush?" Harry was in no mood for their banter. "I want to get some rest before classes tomorrow."

The room instantly silenced. Harry rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. He had no desire whatsoever to put his name in the running for the Triwizard Tourney. Even so, even with all the precautions that the Ministry, the headmaster, and Snape had put into place, Harry's gut feeling knew that somehow he'd get ensnared into Voldemort's plot. Someone would betray him and offer his name as a contender…

He fell asleep and dreamed of the Goblet of Fire choosing him as a Hogwarts Champion…

He was standing on the grounds in front of Hogwarts castle, his arms raised in triumph in front of the whole school, all of whom were applauding and screaming because he'd just won the Tournament. Ginny's face stood out particularly clearly in the blurred crowd, her face glowing with admiration…

Except a bald, crimson-eyed, noseless Voldemort in black silken robes was standing beside her, clapping slowly, his lips drawn into a feral grin, staring down at her as if he might memorize her features…

Harry shouted a warning, but his voice was lost in the cheering crowd. Jumping off the stage, Harry tried to push through the crowd; his wand was comforting in his tight palm. Harry shouted again, feeling dizzy in the press of the screaming crowd.

"_Avada Kedavra!_" There was a green light and the crowd parted only for Ginny to fall forward, eyes open and unseeing, just as dead as Harry's mother—

Waking suddenly, Harry saw that his roommates were breathing deeply in their sleep. As the fog of sleep pulled away, Harry realized he was sitting upright in his bed.

Suffice it to say, even after he laid back onto his pillow he did not manage to fall asleep again. The flickering lightning punctuated the darkness, creating sinister shadows along the walls. Harry knew he would have to stay far away from Ginevra Weasley that year on the slim chance that his nightmare was actually a dream of prophecy.


	5. RXB, KXN

_**Author's Notes: **Welp, a couple of conversations in here were challenging to write. Really long chapter because I didn't want to split it.  
_

_Title is comprised of the abbreviations for "Rook Takes Bishop, King Takes Knight"._

* * *

By the following morning, the storm had blown itself out. In the Great Hall, the ceiling was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as a groggy Harry and the other Slytherins examined their new course schedules at breakfast. The noisiest table that morning was the Gryffindors'; the few snippets Harry had caught were about defeating the precautions set in place for those witches and wizards who were underage and wished to participate.

"Arithmancy this morning," Sally-Anne said on Harry's left. Unsurprisingly, Pansy and her three closest friends were not sitting anywhere close to them.

"Then _we_ have Care of Magical Creatures," Draco said haughtily across from him. "It'll be just the four of us, since the others went into _Muggle Studies_." Harry suppressed the urge to grimace at him.

"Good tutors for Care of Magical Creatures are easy to come by compared to finding one that understands Muggles," Sally-Anne said dismissively.

Draco's pointed face scrunched into disgust. Harry's twitchy fingers rested near his wand. "Father said Burbage is the worst sort of trash because she actively promotes us mating with _Muggles_."

"I think it's fine to have kids with people who were born without magic," Harry said with sharpness he was trying to mute, tearing into a piece of toast held by his left hand. Sour-faced, Draco scowled at Harry's effort to head-off a nasty argument.

"Did you know that wolves have been known to mate with wild dogs, Draco?" Theodore grinned, while the prat spluttered; Crabbe's mouth was a thin line and Goyle blinked with surprise. Harry barely managed to hide a smirk. There was a sudden rustling noise above them. A hundred owls came soaring through the open windows carrying the morning post. Instinctively, Harry looked up, but there was no sign of white among the mass of brown and grey. Hedwig would not be joining him then, Harry thought a little saddened. The owls circled the tables, looking for the people to whom their letters and packages were addressed. An eagle owl had landed on Draco's shoulder after delivering the first box of sweets and cakes to him that year, while another owl dropped a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ in his lap.

Harry had just eaten the last scoop of his porridge, when a distant bell signaled the end of breakfast. The Slytherins parted ways; he was most grateful that the first years were being corralled by the prefects. Dennis had so far sent him cheery looks, but didn't approach. Harry and Sally-Anne headed to the Arithmancy classroom with Hermione, a large handful of Hufflepuffs, and the full contingent of fourth-year Ravenclaws.

"Decided you didn't like Divination, Boot?"

Terry Boot snorted derisively. "Oh, please, Potter. I only wanted a taste of the madness known as the Prophetic Arts. Curiosity sated, I've moved on. I already know the basic Arithmantic fundamentals. My mother's an Arithmancer. No harm in _not_ boring myself to sleep."

It couldn't hurt that Goldstein and Corner were already in Arithmancy, Harry thought. They were a trio of friends from Ravenclaw, largely inseparable, like Draco with Crabbe and Goyle.

The fourth years entered the room through the glass door, filed to their seats, and waited. Usually Professor Vector was a few minutes late. None of them minded since she would always stay later to go over what she taught in class to those struggling with the concepts. Harry had needed some help with trigonometric functions last year, but nothing more yet.

Wearing an emerald shawl, the young professor stepped in without smiling. The Arithmancy Instructor immediately pointed at the chalkboard. "As most of you know, I'm Professor Vector. If you did not intend to be in Arithmancy, Professor Trelawney's class is at the top classroom of North Tower. Now, hold up the homework you were to finish over the summer break."

Harry lifted his rolled parchment and so did nearly everyone else. A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were looking rather fretful. With a twitch of her wand, Professor Vector summoned the homework to a bag that she had for just such an occasion.

"At this time, you will take a pretest. I expect you to complete it within an hour. Afterwards, you will form the groups you were in last year. Those working on Trigonometry will now work on Calculus fundamentals, while those in Algebra will move to Trigonometry. Everyone else moves to Geometry and Algebra, regardless of whether or not you excel at basic Arithmetic. I will send a piece of parchment with today's work to be completed once you've finished your pretests. Any questions?" Her brown eyes looked around the classroom, but nobody raised their hands. With a flick of her wand, the pretests were delivered to each of the awaiting students, and they began to fill them out.

There were only a few problems of multiplication, addition, subtraction, and division, and one graph to decipher. The rest was mostly Algebraic equations and Geometric fundamentals. At the very end were the Trigonometric functions that Harry had struggled with the previous year. Over the summer he'd forgotten how to solve for the angles and sides of a triangle lacking a right angle, even though he knew he'd done it as part of the homework set over the summer. In his defense, it was a rather long equation that he had to memorize. Moments later, Hermione's rolled pretest floated from her desk and a parchment sheet floated back to her.

After placing what he remembered of the equation by the problem, Harry put a question mark next to it as Professor Vector preferred instead of making something up. He then filled out the rest of the sheet and rolled it up, holding it above him. The rolled parchment gently pulled from his fingers and a new sheet lazily floated onto his desk. On it were instructions on how to solve an equation using trigonometric functions. Harry had wondered what had been the point of understanding random trigonometric ratios, but now he realized that it was necessary to swap out a trigonometric function with its equivalent ratios to solve more difficult problems. His mind buzzed with excitement seeing that there were new puzzles to unlock.

"Time's up," came the crisp voice of the professor. She flicked her wand and the rolled pretests floated into another sack, separate from the rolls of homework. With a sharp swipe of her wand, the stacks of parchment fluttered apart, going directly to each student without one. "Group up, now. You only have fifty-five minutes to complete your classwork."

Harry, Hermione, Sally-Anne grouped up… and were surprised when Terry Boot sat down beside them with his quill and parchment. Michael Corner and Anthony Goldstein were in the very large Trigonometry group.

"Am I welcome to join you?" Boot looked a bit uncomfortable, and it was no surprise to Harry. The Ravenclaw seemed extraordinarily shy around girls.

"Certainly," Hermione said.

So, they put their heads together and began to fill out the parchment, not precisely copying one another. Boot's knowledge was far beyond Harry's newly renamed Calculus group; the others opted to ask him questions they normally reserved for Professor Vector.

"…Exactly how close are you to performing nonverbal magic?" Sally-Anne finally asked, once they'd finished their classwork and turned it in with a half hour left to spare.

Boot smiled and flicked his wand at her inkpot. It skidded an inch across the surface of the desk, causing Harry to startle. "That's all I can do. Sad, isn't it?"

So, the term for wordless magic was _nonverbal_, was it? Harry stared at the inkpot with extreme curiosity.

"It takes a lot of practice," Hermione said sagely. "I've read several accounts of nonverbal magic. Most wizards and witches can't perform even that much by the time they're seventeen!"

That garnered a larger smile from Boot. He tilted his head back eyes casting towards the ceiling, but he didn't say a word.

"You need to tell us your secret," Sally-Anne said.

"Once you've reached Diff-EQ, you'll be ready," he said without sounding pompous.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Differential Equations," Hermione answered promptly.

"And that's…?"

"Calculus with Matrices…" Boot explained before Hermione did it for him, "That is—and this is a gross oversimplification—applying a Calculus function to two-dimensional data."

"That sounds intriguing. What's beyond that?"

"Integral Calculus. It's taking the anti-derivative of an equation, which can have an infinite set of solutions if you don't limit it properly. I'm absolute bollocks at it. I keep placing a negative sign in the wrong place which throws the whole lot off," Boot said with a slight whine.

"But once you master it, you'll be able to perform almost any spell nonverbally," Hermione insisted ardently.

"Wait… so," Harry began, "To perform spells wordlessly—er, nonverbally, you _need_ to be able to calculate trajectories in your mind?"

"It's one way to do it, yes. Most reliable one in my opinion," Boot said, nodding to himself. "That's in addition to wand movement and focusing on the spell you want to use."

"How does that work if there's no movement involved?"

"What spell doesn't require an action of the target?" Boot responded circuitously.

"But what if you're changing the quality of something?"

"That requires a deep understanding of Chaos Theory. Anything relating to transformation spells, such as a curse that grows one's front teeth out requires the bare minimum understanding that the simplest things can easily beget chaos. Take the equation, y equals x squared. You wouldn't think a little thing like that is inherently chaotic, but it is despite its deceptively ordered answers. It may start at one point, but it steadily divides from that point providing a two-dimensional reflection of itself graphically. What's interesting is that you input a number and its anti-thesis—that is, its negative—and they provide the very same answer even while the input remains in opposite quadrants. This explains why sometimes we can use different methods and reach the very same conclusion."

"So, Chaos Theory can help with Transfigurations?" Harry prompted when the teenager finished, since he hadn't really followed what the Ravenclaw had speedily said about halfway through.

Boot's eyes flicked to the two others sitting beside them; it was the last remnant of his unease at the two teens who were appearing to absorb every word. "It could or it could have the opposite effect and ruin any hope you have of ever Transfiguring anything ever again. I suppose it depends on the person."

Harry blinked. He thought he'd rather take the risk if it meant he could finally excel at Transfigurations. It wasn't like he particularly enjoyed struggling with it.

Professor Vector clapped her hands three times sharply to get their attention. "There is no homework assigned, unless you have not yet finished your classwork or turned in your homework set from the summer. Class is dismissed!"

After giving them a brief farewell, Terry Boot rejoined his two Ravenclaw friends, while Hermione, Harry, and Sally-Anne went down the corridor towards the main stairwell that would descend to the Entrance Hall. Crowds of students swarmed around them.

"Miserable old bat!" Ron shouted bitterly. "That'll take all weekend…"

Hermione perked up and shot over her shoulder at her two companions, "See you later!" She squeezed past several students to meet up with Ron and Neville. Harry heard her brightly ask the Gryffindors if they had lots of homework and then she bragged that Professor Vector hadn't assigned any at all.

Harry wondered if Draco's baiting was influencing Hermione's habits… and was surprised when Ron gave a moody answer without yelling at her. Deciding it was none of his business, he followed Sally-Anne to the Entrance Hall which was packed with people queuing into the Great Hall for lunch. A loud voice called out, "Harry!" Recognizing the voice, he reluctantly turned to face Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle. They each looked thoroughly pleased about something. A little more removed from them, Theodore looked distant as if he were ruminating on something particularly important.

"What?" He asked warily. Sally-Anne had remained beside him, also cautiously curious.

"That Weasley's father is in the paper," Draco sneered more quietly as he brandished his open copy of the _Daily Prophet_. 'Further Mistakes at the Ministry of Magic!', the headline from the inner folds seemed to boom in very bold lettering.

Harry was even more surprised that Draco wasn't shoving the article in Ron's face. "…And you're playing nice."

"Yes, yes I am. I'm happy you've _finally_ noticed," Draco preened.

He took the morning edition of the paper and began to read the article by Rita Skeeter, the very same who'd published a tell-all book about Harry's mistreatment from the Dursleys without his permission. He tilted the paper so Sally-Anne could read it as well. So, the Death Eaters at the Quidditch World Cup hadn't been forgotten, had they? Harry thought as his eyes followed the tumble of words. He abruptly stopped at 'Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office'. "I'm going to have to write them to complain. She's gotten his father's name wrong," Harry groused. The Entrance Hall had cleared quite a bit while they stood there, so Harry led their group over to the Slytherin table.

"Imagine that, it's almost as though he's a complete nonentity, isn't it?" Draco said looking quite happy that the _Daily Prophet _was spreading misinformation.

"I worry whether she even managed to get my backstory correct if this Skeeter can't even get a person's name right," Harry said irritably as he continued reading about the aggressive dustbins Theodore had mentioned last night. Mr. Weasley had apparently rushed to the aid of Professor Moody— who apparently had retired from the Ministry when he was no longer able to differentiate between a handshake and attempted murder—only to discover that the aged Auror had raised a false alarm. Mr. Weasley had had to modify several memories of Muggle 'law-keepers', which Skeeter correctly called policemen. Ron's father had then refused to answer _Daily Prophet_ questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene.

"There's even a picture of Weasley's parents in front of their shabby hovel on the other side," Draco pointed out. They sat down at the Slytherin table which had quite a spread of dishes, even a rack of barbecue ribs. Harry would have preferred that Draco not sit next to him.

"Are you done?" Harry asked Sally-Anne, and she nodded. He flipped the paper over and saw Mr. and Mrs. Weasley smiling cherubically in front of a massive, crooked-looking house. A large oak tree seemed to have sprouted in the very center of the house. "I think it looks rather cozy."

"It's disgraceful for purebloods, even if they are blood traitors, to have to subsist in such run-down place. I'd be spitting mad too if it were me," Draco said with pity in his tone, his eyes glancing towards the Gryffindor table.

"They look happy to me," Harry said through his teeth, and Draco frowned.

"And his mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn't she? That can't be healthy."

"Oh, come off it," the heated words burst out of Harry. "I think your mother could stand to gain a little weight. She's practically emaciated."

"My mother is naturally thin!" Draco hissed at him, outraged. His cheeks looked as if they'd been patted with rouge.

"And Mrs. Weasley has the normal curves of a woman who's had nine children," Sally-Anne pointed out quite calmly, "Giving birth is incredibly taxing on the body. Only strict dieting and a daily imbibing of Weight-loss and Beautification Potions can return them back to how they were before."

Snorting, the prat stared down at the paper with a strange glimmer in his eyes. "I suppose the Weasleys can't afford to do that."

"I don't think someone ought to change how they look if they're happy with themselves," Harry said abruptly, glancing towards Tracey who was farther down the table laughing with Pansy at something Daphne had said. Her run-in with Draco seemed forgotten for the moment, but the same couldn't be said of Harry.

"Wouldn't you like to get rid of that scar on your forehead if given half the chance?" Theodore, who'd been so quiet earlier, was seated on the other side of Sally-Anne.

"I've never given it any thought," Harry admitted easily.

"Oh," Sally-Anne lamented, "What I wouldn't give to have been born a boy."

Finding that unexpected, Harry tilted his head directing a very curious look at her. "Why?"

"You wouldn't believe the pressure I've faced from the other girls to take Leg-Lengthening and Beautification Potions. They say I'm too plain and short for anyone to find me attractive."

"You _are _rather plain and short," Draco agreed casually, appraising her like someone would do with a horse. "You should also get your eyes fixed so you look less like a squinty mole."

Her pale face twitching, Sally-Anne sat very still as her eyes grew unfriendly. Harry's mind raced to figure out what to say to defuse the sudden tension.

"Don't listen to him, Sal," Theodore said, grasping her shoulder, and the stiffness in her relaxed. Her head turned slightly towards him and her cheeks pinked a little with a smile curled on her lips.

That was before Draco said, "You do want to marry well, don't you? You'll have to attract attention some way what with your parents being shut-in squibs and your pride refusing to take on the rightful name of your bloodline."

With ferocious speed, Sally-Anne slammed her hands onto the table. Harry leaned back a little wishing he was not sitting between the two. "For your insult, Draco Malfoy, I challenge you to a duel!"

"What, _you _challenge _me?" _Draco's voice was quite distant, growing ever more confused,_ "_I didn't say anything offensive. I was pointing out the established facts. Your parents don't have any connections with the old families or accumulated wealth to provide an enticing dowry, and it's common knowledge that you've spurned the goodwill of the Selwyns and Rowles. That leaves only your particular qualities…" Draco eyed Theodore for a moment and then said, "One of which I suspect you've already squandered on a dalliance._" _

With a snarl, Sally-Anne hopped up from the bench, her shoulder-length hair flinging behind her from the movement. Hand lightly placed over his wand, Harry turned in his seat in case he needed to use a Freezing Charm on her. There was a look of pure murder running across her face. Only Theodore's hand on her arm kept the young witch from drawing the wand from her robes. "Easy, Sal." The temper was still there, hot and barely restrained. Sally-Anne's lips were curled with an ugly expression of hatred, her eyes boring at the apparent idiot behind Harry, who had already been turned into a bird once. Harry swallowed, thinking that sudden movement was ill-advised.

Words continued pouring out of the prat, "You don't actually expect that being smart and graduating from Hogwarts will win you a good hus—"

"_Enough, Draco_—" Harry growled at him after seeing the way that Sally-Anne's clenched face had flushed, the angry gaze blistering with frigidity.

"—band," the last syllable stilted out as if it had nearly been chewed in half. Harry could tell that Draco was staring quite fixedly at the back of his head.

"Quite frankly, I don't want any wizard who expects a stupid and subservient witch to cater to his every whim," she spat out.

Draco laughed, and Sally-Anne's face became quite pinched. "I thought it would be obvious that you're as far away from my type as realistically possible," Draco answered.

A curious prefect was walking their way, and the sight of the fifth year had Harry more relieved than he cared to admit. "Incoming," Theodore said lowly near Sally-Anne's ear.

"Accept my challenge or you'll find how vicious an enemy I make," she said with a harsh voice. To which Draco snorted. With an incredulous look, Harry glanced behind him.

Draco maintained unconcerned eye contact with her. "These are the _facts _of your situation, Perks, and the sooner you wise up to reality, the better off you'll be." When the cold glare from Harry finally registered, Draco shot him a startled look. "I'm _serious_. No one of her standing ought to have to work for a living. It's bad enough that she refuses to cast off that despicable _Muggle _name."

"She shoulden't—"

"Don't pretend you're being charitable with your words, _Malfoy_," she snarled out. Harry's eyes flicked back to Sally-Anne, whose expression had gone from furious to desolate. "Even if I explained how wrong you are, you wouldn't _listen_. You're so arrogant to believe there's only one way to live," she said through clenched teeth.

"It's the _proper _way," Draco said with an irritated tone.

There was a shimmer of unshed tears in her eyes. Harry felt that he ought to comfort her, but then she knocked Theodore's hand off her shoulder.

"Sal!" Theodore cried out to her. She spun on her heel to storm through the double doors at a brisk pace, ignoring the curious, cool gazes from Ravenclaw and their own table.

The stocky prefect, Felix Brunt, passed by them with only a cursory glance. There wasn't a tense stand-off to defuse any longer.

A hand came down on Harry's shoulder when he moved to stand to follow his friend. "I've got it. Explain to this ignorant _prick_ what he's done." Without a look back, Theodore quickly followed their housemate out of the Great Hall.

Harry was left feeling vaguely uncertain about how he would go about doing that. It seemed like an impossible order considering the bloody prat acted as if he had arrived from the 18th century and its attendant prejudices. Longer, Harry amended, if one went by the time the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect. After all, Draco had believed last year that Muggles nearby were ready and willing to burn magical folk at the stake. Harry took in a breath. The black pit of rage in his stomach wasn't helping him think, either.

"Wouldn't you want to be a bit of jam if you were a girl? Then everyone would like you without any effort on your part," Draco said to himself. Harry looked at him for a moment, Crabbe and Goyle forgotten accessories. The other teen looked more perplexed than anything.

"I think you've completely missed her point," Harry said. He tried not to grit his teeth. He was leveled with a narrowed look.

"Does she _want_ to be put on the shelf until she dwindles into obscurity?"

"If she wants that, so what? It's not any of your business."

Draco's mouth flapped open for a half-second too long and then he huffed, gesturing at the Great Hall, buzzing with voices. "Don't tell me that you would want to marry a girl that was smarter than you…? Their heads get filled with all the wrong things needed to raise children."

For being as experienced with girls as he claimed, Draco certainly didn't understand them. Harry took a deep breath, quelling the murderous urge to hex him and be done with it. The last time Harry had tried to reason with the unreasonable he'd been locked in a cupboard for nearly a week over holiday; that was well over five years ago, and while no one would dare to do that to him now he wasn't willing to try. Sharp, grey eyes didn't miss how Harry's hand clenched by his wand. "Do you want to resemble a pointy-faced rat?"

Draco's eyes fluttered in surprise. "Are you threatening to Transfigure my face? I didn't know she meant that much to you."

Harry sighed, balling his right fist to tap it against his knee. "Why bother when your face already resembles a rat's?"

"_What_?" Draco cried, touching all over his face in horror before he realized how stupid he looked doing it. "I _do not_ look like a rat!" Harry saw Crabbe and Goyle exchange a look behind Draco's head as if silently agreeing with Harry's assessment.

"Would _you_ take potions that are meant to correct that?"

"No, why would I _need to_ when my family's wealthy? Girls already throw themselves at me and I'm not even of age," Draco said arrogantly.

"I think that the only ones who would want you aren't the sort you really want."

"Hah! I can get under any skirt I want!" Draco boasted and then sneered, "But what would _you_ know about _girls_? You haven't even _kissed_ one, let alone slept with one."

Harry would have given anything not to know that. "I know that adults who are overly concerned about how they look only want to cover up the ugliness they already have. Or did you forget about Lockhart?"

Lips puckered into one of abject disgust at the mention of that self-absorbed wizard. So, no, Draco hadn't forgotten.

"Do you really want to marry someone like _him_, a self-absorbed fraud and cheat? Someone who only loves you for your money and wouldn't bat an eye at betraying you?"

Draco's expression grew dark with malice at the mention of betrayal. "I see your point about marriage-worthy material," he said in a decidedly unhappy manner. "But you and I obviously disagree about the purpose of it. Marriage is simply an exchange of properties and a way to keep your bloodline strong." His face slackened as if suddenly bored, the sharp edge of his tone blunted with amusement. "It has nothing at all to do with… _love_. After I've married, I can take on as many lovers as I'd like. The same goes to the future bearer of my children."

It wasn't that surprising when Harry already knew that Draco could only see a chessboard with pawns spread out upon it. "Fine. Just don't expect everyone to believe the same way you do," Harry said flatly.

"Naturally."

"Good. Then I expect you'll apologize to Sally-Anne for riling her up when you go to accept her challenge."

There was a long moment where Draco seemed to be thinking. The noise of the Great Hall came back into focus around Harry, and then his roommate said, "I don't duel _girls_, Potter. They're much too delicate to handle the spellwork involved. Well, excepting in cases where they've succumbed to madness." The prat looked as though he found that thought both terrifying and amusing.

Harry's jaw dropped before he was able to catch himself, and then he scratched his ear. He shouldn't have been surprised to hear that from Draco considering how he'd treated Tracey and the others, but surely he was joking? Surely he wasn't that _senseless_? "Then, how do you explain Hermione's top ranking at Hogwarts? She's beaten you in every class three years running!"

There was a casual flick of a hand and a slight shrug. "Everyone knows the teachers go easy on the girls. That's why that Muggle-born has been able to receive better grades than me."

The teachers didn't go easy on anyone, but instead of attacking that fallacy Harry bulled forward. "And how many fourth years are capable of turning you into a bird, Draco?"

The teen scowled. "It was _obviously_ a fluke. Pansy was lucky she didn't maim me."

That absolutely settled it; Draco was delusional. He hadn't seen that it actually had been Sally-Anne who had done the deed. He couldn't know just how talented she was or how long she must have practiced to attain that feat of complex magic. Shaking his head, Harry muttered, "I can't believe I'm hearing this."

"Suppose that I were to duel Perks: she'd be too busy thinking of what she was going to cast next by the time I Disarmed her," Draco said with an air of reassured superiority. "Same with that Granger, except that she'd have her nose in a bloody book referencing offensive spells. And, well, it would _hardly_ be _sporting_ for me to accept a challenge from a _girl_."

Harry's laughter was abrupt and cutting. "I can't wait to see the look on your face when Hermione snaps and clobbers you with obscure and advanced curses."

"_Please_, that Muggle-born doesn't have the stomach to attack _me_ with Dark magic, even with provocation."

Merlin, Harry already wished the conversation was over. Picking at his food, he felt his patience growing too frayed; the longer the other teen sat there chattering his nonsense the stronger Harry felt the urge to follow through half a dozen different ways to silence him, and many of which could be considered Dark.

Unable to let Draco carry on all by himself any longer, Harry interrupted the start of a rant on the exceedingly delicate structure of the MVS in witches to say, "Look, I don't give a bloody shite what you think. Shut up and eat. We have Care of Magical Creatures next and if you faint from low blood sugar, I've half a mind to feed you to the Acromantula in the forest."

There was a flurry of owlish blinks. "…Could have worded that with one less threat," the prat muttered sullenly at his plate. Finding that reaction unexpected, Harry let out a harsh laugh at him and received a baleful look for it. Nevertheless, the blond dutifully scooped pot roast onto his fork and set to work polishing off the remains of his lunch, while Crabbe and Goyle exchanged loaded looks over his head.

When the bell rang to signal the start of afternoon lessons, Harry left the Great Hall followed by a strangely silent Draco and his hulking hangers-on. The silence was punctuated by the occasional compulsive, biting comment as they went through the corridors of Hogwarts, but to Harry it was a large improvement. Then they were outside on the breezy hills behind Hogwarts where the birds were chirping. Hagrid's small cabin was in sight, where other students were already milling about.

Hagrid was standing before the small gathering of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As the four Slytherins drew nearer with the rest of their class, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

Harry looked inside one of the crates and saw that there were a hundred creatures in it that were deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking. They had legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. They were each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They stunk to high heaven of rotting fish. Harry's stomach roiled in protest. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of one of them with a small _phut_, and it would be propelled forward several inches.

"Af'ernoon, 'Arry!" Hagrid said, grinning at him. "Only jus' hatched, so yeh'll be able ter raise 'em yerselves! Thought we'd make a bit o' a project o' it!"

"And why would we _want_ to raise them?" Draco asked coldly. Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering behind them.

The half-giant looked stumped at the question.

"Lay off," Harry snapped, "It's the first day of the term."

Draco eyed the revolting creatures. "I mean, what do they _do_? What is the _point _of them?"

Their professor opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was another few seconds' pause and then their teacher said roughly, "Tha's next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus' feedin' 'em today. Now, yeh'll wan' ter try 'em on a few diff'rent things—I've never had 'em before, so not sure what they'll go fer—I got ant eggs an' frog livers an' a bit o' grass snake—just try 'em out with a bit of each. I call 'em Blast-Ended Skrewts!"

Draco made a face and turned to Harry. "I bet these are an _illegal_ breed. _I've_ never heard of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Have you, Crabbe?"

The zit-faced teen shook his head with a sharp jaunt of his square jaw.

Nothing but deep affection for Hagrid could have made Harry pick up squelchy handfuls of frog liver and lower them into the crates to tempt the creatures. He couldn't suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless when he discovered that the Skrewts lacked something resembling mouths. Neither Draco or Goyle reached into the boxes, but Crabbe tried to feed the Skrewts ant eggs. Harry gave him a smile, which was returned with something that resembled cheer from his normally gloomy roommate.

"_Ouch!_" A Gryffindor cried out; Harry looked up from his box and saw it was Dean Thomas that Hagrid was hurrying over to. "It got me! Its end exploded!" Dean showed Hagrid the burn on his hand.

"Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off," Hagrid said with a nod.

"EURGH!" A Gryffindor, Lavender Brown, yelled out. "Eurgh! Hagrid what's that pointy thing on it?"

"Ah, some of 'em have got stings," Hagrid said enthusiastically. "I reckon they're th' males since th' other's've—prolly th' females—got sorta sucker things on their bellies… Might suck blood."

"Well, I can certainly see why we're trying to keep them alive," Draco said with loud and rich sarcasm, "Who wouldn't want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?"

Harry surprised himself when laughter rolled out of him, Crabbe and Goyle joining in before he could stop—though he probably thought it was funny for a different reason. Namely because the more dangerous a creature was the more likely Hagrid was to want to raise them.

"Just because they're not very pretty doesn't mean they're not useful," Hermione retorted from across the boxes. Feeling a bit guilty, Harry looked up to see her and a redheaded Gryffindor glaring at him. Neville was looking quite uncomfortable. "Dragon blood's amazingly magical, but you wouldn't want a dragon for a pet, would you?"

"Oh, I don't know. I can think of _someone_," Harry said openly grinning again after a look towards their professor, and now so was Ron and Neville. Even Hagrid seemed to be smiling furtively behind his beard.

"You're probably right," Draco drawled at the confused faces of the students around them who missed that Hagrid had owned one for a brief period during their first year, a vicious Norwegian Ridgeback by the name of Norbert. "Our professor would probably _love_ to raise a dragon."

A Hufflepuff by the name of Susan Bones snorted out a giggle and then covered her face in embarrassment when everyone looked her way. Her friend, who had gone through a radical change in appearance over the summer like many of the witches in Harry's year, laughed openly and soon the entire class had followed Hannah Abbott's lead, bowled over in unexpected laughter. Draco preened from all the attention.

When Harry looked over to the Gryffindor trio, Ron had a sour look on his face. He was likely remembering the time that he'd spent in the infirmary from an infected dragon bite and how Draco had threatened and bullied him.

"Alrigh', alrigh'," Hagrid bellowed, clapping his meaty hands together. "Get back ter tryin'! Somethin' ough' ter take!"

Ignoring the Gryffindor's glare, Harry picked up a chunk of stringy meat and danced it over the Skrewts' heads, who seemed no likelier to eat that than anything else Harry and Crabbe had tried. All throughout Draco and Goyle hovered over the duo's shoulders in the fruitless attempt to feed the disgusting things.

An hour later, a bell was tolling in the distance.

"Righ'. No homework! I'll see yeh all next Monday!" The half-giant hollered behind them.

"I don't think he was very prepared," Draco complained as they made their way back up to the castle for dinner. "I hope these creatures don't get very large. They'll be revolting."

Harry frowned unable to disagree. "Could their components be useful?"

"Judging by what they do… nothing for consumption or general use. I expect they'd make highly concentrated, explosive substances."

"Explosives?" Crabbe asked with high glee in his cracking voice.

Draco sneered, "My godfather would probably never cover them because of the radically destructive acts of such a potion…"

"I say, better to stamp out the lot of these things before they start attackin' us," Goyle grumbled.

They sat down at the Slytherin table and helped themselves to lamb chops and potatoes. With anger mostly subsided, Harry found that he was very famished after working with the Skrewts and piled the food high on his plate, while Draco talked about the latest gossip he'd gleaned during his Divinations class. How _certain _families were attempting and, largely, failing to pair off their only heirs in arranged marriages, how Professor Trelawney had predicted someone's death—apparently this was a habit of hers—, how there was a rumor that someone had been infected by Lycanthropy last year—

Mere moments after Harry wondered if that rumor was bad news for Theodore, a tall and curvy Hufflepuff with blond hair asked rather softly in the loud wash of noise around them, "Potter, have you seen any Lionsnakes around?"

It was the elusive and skittish Marjorie Dunning, who had never once spoken to Harry before. Seeing that her short friend, Gertrude Lewis, hovered behind her, Harry glanced at Dunning's patient expression before turning back to his plate. "Er, no I haven't. They're quite invisible most of the time."

"Yes, of course they are," she said without a hint of annoyance. "Prefect Pennyworth thinks none of them will be spotted for another year because it takes a while for a colony to establish…"

"They've already had a year," Harry said, recalling that it was not yet thirteen months since he'd smuggled them in, "but I don't expect we'll see them for another month." He chewed on a rather nicely seasoned boiled potato while the two witches looked at one another.

Dunning gave him a thoughtful look. "_Oh_, the headmaster must've brought them in with Black on the loose…"

"Who I doubt'll be back now that the Lionsnakes are around," he informed her absently in between bites of succulent pork.

"You're right," she said cheerfully. "Thanks, Potter!"

He nodded towards her and was startled to realize that Draco had remained silent throughout the entire exchange.

"You know an awful lot about these snakes."

Draco watched him as Harry cut into the last of the pork. Opting to choose his words quite carefully, Harry remained quiet. His eyes trailed farther down the table as he drank from his goblet. Along with Pansy and her trio of friends, Sally-Anne and Theodore were whispering to one another and sharing food from each other's plate. Harry wished he could join them. He set the drink down. "I'm a Parselmouth; it's my business to know about Magical snakes and serpents. Besides, the headmaster seemed very pleased to add them to Hogwarts wards."

"You've all but admitted bringing them in," Draco said with a particularly vicious stab at a hapless roasted potato. His eyes kept flickering towards Harry's closest friends. It was obvious to Harry that Draco wasn't pleased that he hadn't been told this secret.

"I haven't." Harry let his relaxed body language speak for him, showing his confusion at why he would be suspected.

Draco cleared his throat importantly, "I for one am impressed at the gains you've made in deceiving others."

Harry rolled his eyes towards the starlit enchanted ceiling. "So, will you accept Sally-Anne's challenge or not?"

"If you owe me a favor, I will…"

Hah, so he wanted to collect favors again? "Only if you call us even when she defeats you," Harry suggested easily.

"I'll accept that wager only if it doubles my stakes when she inevitably loses," Draco said.

Harry grinned. The smirking prat was going to eat stone when he was cast straight off the dueling stage. "Fine. I'll take those odds."

With rising uncertainty and insecurity, Draco peered at him. "You honestly think she can win against _me_ when she's never stepped foot on the dueling stage?"

Snorting, the Boy-Who-Lived didn't bother with a counter. He did take a great spoonful of the treacle pudding that had just appeared and ate it with relish. All he had to do was act courteous around bloody Snape, and then he wouldn't have any favors owed to anybody at all.

With ill-concealed worry, Harry's roommate sat back grinding his teeth together. For the second time that day, Harry finished dessert to the murmur of the hundreds of conversations within the hall without someone talking his ear off.

* * *

The next day passed without incident. History of Magic in the morning and then a free period in the afternoon, which Harry napped through, was followed by Astronomy at ten; Draco acted as if he belonged next to Harry, deterring others from approaching their little group with a sharp glance or narrow glare.

By Wednesday morning, Harry was rather glad that he had taken Study of Ancient Runes; in the second highest wing of Hogwarts near the Ravenclaw dorms, the classroom was far from the Potions lab where Draco would be. Professor Babbling was as insane as usual, using Double-sided Runic Pentagons on half the chairs in the classroom. Thankfully, the only status effect of the magic was the chair's occupant being unable to move themselves from the Runic Trap.

Meanwhile, their professor lectured about how one went about countering the Runic Traps without tripping nastier status effects on the hapless students. "Nothing lethal, of course," she said lightly, "But it'll smart if you don't correctly render the Runic Trap unviable. I recommend thorough planning and discussion before you try anything." Professor Babbling smiled brightly. "Get to work! You only have an hour before the Runic Traps cause collateral damage to the victim."

"She's a sadist," Theodore muttered under his breath as he inspected the runes carved into Harry's desk. "I think I'm smitten, Harry."

"I think you've lost your marbles," Harry groused.

He laughed and continued marking the complicated sequences of runes exactly as the pattern showed. Then he dragged his desk closer, allowing Harry to look at it as well.

Harry asked irately, "Why does she give us something more complicated than she lectures about?"

"To challenge us, of course. There's a reason why getting top marks in this class on your N.E.W.T. guarantees a cursebreaking position at Gringotts. Now quickly, we only have fifty minutes left."

They pored over the diagram which Theodore had drawn exactly; Harry's friend scribbled the Double Runic Hexagon that might suitably counteract every active part of the Runic pattern he was meant to defuse. He'd gone through several parchments by now. "Do you think it'll work perfectly?"

Harry inspected the counter-Rune shown to him. It looked acceptable to him. "You've only got twenty minutes to draw it in the correct sequence. I'd say do it before time runs out."

It was rather agonizing for Harry to sit there and let Theodore do all the drawing; Harry inwardly reasoned that he simply _couldn't _help while he was trapped within the magic of the Double-sided Runic Pentagon. The _helplessness_ didn't make him feel any better. He would rather that he hadn't been trapped in the first place.

The magic pinning Harry to the chair significantly lessened the more Theodore worked and then there was a tingle of the magic lifting off of Harry and…

"Done!" Theodore sat up and wiped the sweat off his forehead, smearing charcoal residue across it.

Harry reached down and picked up his bag in relief. Their professor had proactively dismissed them as soon as they'd finished their classwork; the assigned pages of their book to summarize and turn in next class period was written on the blackboard. "You've done it perfectly then."

"Um… your hair looks like a skunk," Theodore said apologetically. He quickly snapped up the paper he'd drawn on and checked the underside of the table. "Shite. I didn't make the legs of the Mimez long enough… Argh!"

"It's just hair, Theo. Don't worry about it, I certainly won't. Let's check on Sally-Anne and Hermione."

They found Hermione frantically penning diagrams several chairs over. "This is impossible!" She said her face exceptionally red.

Harry glanced at the time. She had ten minutes to solve the Double-sided Hexagon that Sally-Anne appeared to be trapped in.

"Here," Theodore said, calmly drawing out an eight-sided figure instead of the seven-sided one Hermione had been grappling with. "The magical property of Seven makes it inherently chaotic. Best to scrap it."

"Why didn't I think of that?" Muttering, she quickly finished the eight-sided runic pattern. Both Harry and Theodore stepped back when Hermione dropped to the floor beside Sally-Anne's desk. Hermione quickly drew an octagon by marking its vertices with the provided compass and then scribbled in the complex sequence of runes around it. A moment after Hermione had completed it, Sally-Anne had jumped from the chair with a cheerful chirrup and then hugged a stunned Hermione tightly. "You did it!"

"Look, Hermione, and her hair doesn't resemble a skunk either," Harry said, making light of his appearance.

The largest smile Harry had ever seen erupted on the Gryffindor's face. "Thanks, Theo," Hermione said to the Slytherin next to Harry.

"My pleasure, Hermione," Theodore said with a courtly bow.

The bell tolled, and Professor Babbling announced that she was available for after-class tutoring. Those successful students who had remained exited the classroom, while those who'd failed to break the runic patterns had incensed partners with an assortment of different wild hairstyles. Some with outlandish bright yellow and black mohawks with curls at the tips or neon blue and brown wavy mullets that touched the floor; others with jagged bangs of silver and outlandish green covering half of their face which hissed whenever the hair was disturbed and a few with a great shock of red with gold highlights puffed out in all directions like a maned clown. After seeing the others Harry thought his skunk-colored hair was a blessing in disguise.

The teen witches began to giggle; Harry glanced at Hermione and Sally-Anne. Their faces were flushed and quite close together as if they might start gossiping at any moment. Except they weren't. Their eyes were quite fixed on each other's.

Harry frowned at them and then asked Theodore, "What's got into them, do you think?"

"Them? No idea, but I'm starved! Let's go get something to eat, shall we?" Theodore clapped an arm around Harry's shoulders and led him from the room.

"What about them?" Harry tried to twist out of his taller roommate's strong grip but was dragged out the room.

"Oh, they'll be down shortly, I expect."

Deciding not to bother with it, Harry pinched the back of his friend's hand.

"Oi!" Harry was released and he stumbled a bit to compensate. "What's got you in a bad mood?"

"Nothing. I didn't want to be dragged around." Harry looked up and down the corridor, but it was deserted. There were fewer paintings in the hall than last year. "How've you been?"

"Been?" Theodore gave him a very strange look. "We share a room. You know how I've been."

"It's the first time I've caught you alone since the World Cup. The 'crystal orb' is right around the corner, isn't it? And I suppose you've heard the rumors, too."

"Crystal—_Oh_." Theodore rubbed the back of his neck. "Don't worry about me. There's a plan in place. Besides, you've got enough troubles of your own…" When Theodore saw the puzzled look on Harry's face, he said, "Draco. You've got to keep an eye on him."

"It's a little hard not to," Harry groused.

Theodore chuckled. "If he bothers you that much, you ought to cut things off cleanly and let him know you're enemies."

"I need what he knows."

"Harry."

Harry stopped, looking at the hand on his shoulder.

"He's not much use at arm's length… because his greatest asset isn't the information his father feeds him." Theodore's steel blue eyes caught Harry's, and Harry looked away.

"Then what is?"

"That's something you're going to have to figure out on your own, if you ever expect your cunning to mature."

Harry scowled. "…Is this about him wanting to date me?"

With an amused look, Theodore pocketed both of his hands and walked ahead of him. "No comment."

After letting loose an irritated sigh, Harry followed. "I'm going to work it out."

"And I'll tell you when you guess correctly. Do you happen to have a date for the Yule Ball yet?"

"No, and I don't intend to." Harry eyed his friend. "You're not asking me out, are you?"

That garnered a loud snort. "As kissable as your lips appear, I'm only interested in ladies."

"Thank Merlin for small mercies," Harry muttered. Then he raised an eyebrow as an idea came to mind. "Would that happen to include trans-witches?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Theodore said and smoothly turned the topic back on Harry. "So, have you really no interest in anyone at all?"

"I guess girls are nice to look at, but I don't want to snog them," Harry said.

"Hm." Thankfully, that was the end of a conversation that could become entirely too awkward, as Theodore changed the subject to the rumors flying around about the Triwizard Tournament.

In the Great Hall, Theodore went to sit by Sally-Anne when the two wizards had arrived after their scenic walk through the corridors; the fourth-year Slytherin witches had arrived before them.

Draco couldn't stop griping over Harry's hair, which Harry thought was trivial. Draco acted as if it was an affront to any normal person's _noble_ sensibilities and had begged for a favor from Harry to change it back. Harry stabbed the plate of fish more vigorously, and Draco backed off. Miffed, Harry eyed his chatty friend, who was leaning quite into Sally-Anne's space as he thought over the advice Theodore had given him.

"Are you even listening to me?" Draco snapped. It was no surprise that he didn't like being ignored so obviously.

"I'll let you change my hair back if you owe me a favor."

The prat inhaled hard; for all intents he looked flabbergasted that Harry would think that he would take the bait. "Absolutely not. I won't reward you for attempting to take advantage of me so blatantly."

"Then do it without favors or fuss."

A short black wand was out in a flash, waving over Harry's head before he had a chance to react. Scant seconds later, the wand was reholstered. "_There_," he said with relish, eyes drifting again towards the other fourth-year Slytherins. "He ought to be more careful next time if he knows what's good for him."

That sent Harry frowning in confusion. "It was just hair color."

"This time. If it'd been a Disembowelment Curse, you'd been walking around with your guts bulging halfway out of your belly," Draco said, his lip curling.

Harry blinked and then blinked again as an idea of what Theodore had meant flickered to life in his mind. It appeared that his obnoxious roommate had a massive protective streak. "Draco—"

"Potter, sorry to interrupt." Prefect Renshaw stood next to Draco, shifting with extreme agitation. "You have Defense Against the Dark Arts next, right?"

"Yes…" Draco responded, "You could easily look up our schedule to know that?"

The sixth year's lips parted slightly and then he rubbed his forehead. "Right, well, I have a bit of important information for you, concerning Professor Moody."

Draco nodded, flicking his hand for the student two years their senior to continue.

"Last period, the professor demonstrated the Imperius Curse on Kartik when he spoke out of turn. Kartik was made to slither around the floor like a snake, while that ex-Auror laughed."

Harry stared. The law stated that if you even _attempted _to cast an Unforgivable you were sent straight to Azkaban!

"But that's _illegal_," Draco hissed out. "When my father hears of this—"

"The school governors have approved Professor Moody's curriculum," the prefect said, "and that includes teaching fourth years and older how to throw off the Imperius Curse. I'm surprised that _your father _didn't see fit to warn you about this. At any rate, I already expected Professor Moody to be biased towards our House, but this is way out of line. Professor Snape has been kept abreast of the situation. He's advised us to avoid Mad-Eye Moody's power plays, if possible."

Draco's mouth flapped open and close a few times as he had been rendered speechless. Chewing on his gum Crabbe looked defiant, while Goyle looked worried.

"That sounds like a useful skill to have… throwing off the Imperius curse, I mean," Harry said evenly.

"_If _you manage it," the prefect said before turning and walking away. Moments later, the bell tolled for next period.

Harry stood up, grabbing his schoolbag. "Are you coming or not?"

The three teens reluctantly followed Harry to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, soon to be joined by the others. Beyond a sharp warning to Crabbe and Goyle about showing their best manners, Draco had been unnaturally quiet the entire trip there. Less than fifteen minutes later, Harry took the front seat and pulled out his copy of _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection,_ which he was already a third of the way through. Draco was announcing to everyone else about their barmy teacher's ploy to humiliate them all with the Imperius Curse. The teen witches all seemed as equally outraged as Draco by it; for the moment, the feud between them and Draco vanished in light of a common enemy.

At the sound of distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, every single one of them returned to their seats, unusually silent. Professor Moody entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever. They could see his heavy, metal foot protruding from the cuff of his trousers beneath the hem of his robes.

"You can put those away," he growled, stumping over to his desk with his heavy staff and sitting down. "Read them on your own time. And no, I won't be testing you on anything in the books."

Harry and his classmates dutifully bagged the required books. Harry took a quick glance around and saw that every face had lost their color. Was he the only one not feeling that terrified?

Professor Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his twisted scarred face, and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily own the list while his Magical eye swiveled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered.

When Harry was the last person called, the professor said gruffly, "Alastor Moody, ex-Auror, Ministry malcontent, and your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher." He slapped the register down, standing up. "I received a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you've had a pretty thorough ground in tackling Dark creatures—you've covered boggarts, red caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, kappas, and dementors, is that right?"

"Yes, sir," Harry answered when none of his classmates spoke up.

The wizard limped heavily across the room. "But you're behind—very behind on dealing with curses," Professor Moody said. "So, I'm here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I've got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark Magic—"

"You aren't staying?" Draco interrupted.

Professor Moody's Magical eye spun around until settling on Draco; Draco's face turned waxy in apprehension, but after a moment their professor smiled—the first time Harry had ever seen him do so. The effect was frightening as his heavily scarred face looked even more twisted and contorted. Nevertheless, Harry thought it was good to know that the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher did anything as friendly as smile.

Draco did not look relieved. In fact, he looked as if he might be facing another troll, one that would crack his bones open and suck the marrow out while he was still kicking.

"You'll be Lucius Malfoy's son, eh?" Moody said and then he laughed harshly. "Yes, one year, and then I'm back to my quiet retirement. I'm here because Dumbledore asked me. End of story, goodbye, the end. Any other questions?" He looked around sternly at the other Slytherins. Then he clapped his gnarled hands together. "So—straight to it. When it comes to the Dark Arts, I believe in a _practical _approach. But first, which of you can tell me how many Unforgivable Curses there are?" Professor Moody looked around the room.

The classroom was oppressively quiet. Harry raised his hand.

"Don't tell me a pack of vipers doesn't know how many Unforgivables there are?" Professor Moody said with a sneer, ignoring Harry. Harry lowered his hand with a frown. He was a viper just like the rest of them, but their new DADA professor acted as if he weren't. Harry wasn't yet sure whether this was a good or bad thing.

"There are three, sir," Theodore offered quietly.

"And they are so named?" Professor Moody ground out.

"Because they irreparably harm the affected person's soul, an unpardonable prospect," Theodore responded. Though he looked composed, Harry didn't miss the trickle of sweat crawling down the side of his face.

"Correct," their DADA professor growled. "Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I'm supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I'm not supposed to show you what the more dangerous curses look like until you're in your sixth year." He banged his hand on the table. "I say different! You need to know what you're up against! You need to be prepared!" He limped over to the blackboard with a bit of chalk in his hand as he wrote 'Unforgivables' across the board. "You need to find another place for your chewing gum besides the underside of your desk, Mr. Crabbe!"

Harry and the other Slytherins swiveled around to look at the gobsmacked Crabbe, whose face was flushed. Apparently Moody's roving eye could see through solid wood, as well as the back of his head.

Draco gave Crabbe a look of pure venom. "I said your _best manners_," he hissed, "Now, apologize!"

"S-sorry, Professor Moody," Crabbe managed, eyes fixed on the table in front of him. The gum was still stuck tightly between his fingers.

"It takes a good man to know he was caught wrong-handed," the professor growled. There was a half-second pause before he continued. "Now, how are you supposed to defend yourself against something you've never seen? A wizard who's about to put an illegal curse on you isn't going to tell you what he's about to do. He's not going to be nice and polite to your face. He's going to _curse_ you!"

Harry swallowed. Images of Draco's father about to cast an Unforgivable at Harry for freeing Dobby flashed through his mind.

"So," Professor Moody said very slowly, eyes looking over them. "Which Unforgivable shall we see first? Hmm?"

Nobody offered a word, and Harry wasn't feeling brave enough to try again.

"Nott!" The professor barked, startling them all soundly.

Beside Harry, Theodore had the solemn look of someone visiting their dead relative at a funeral. "Yes, sir?"

"Give us a curse," Professor Moody whispered.

Harry swallowed nervously as Theodore hesitated. "The Imperius Curse…?"

"Ah, yes…" Professor Moody said brandishing his wand, eyeing Theodore. Thankfully, the professor turned heavily, walking to a set of cabinets with various insects hidden behind glass covers. He lifted one of the covers. "Hellooo!" He greeted whatever it was he'd scooped into his hand, "Lovely little beauty." He turned the wand upon it and then cast, "_Engorgio!_" The spider was instantly as large as his meaty hand. "_Imperio!_"

The strange-looking spider suddenly leapt from his hand on a fine thread of silk it had shot out from its end. It swung towards them as though it were on a trapeze and then straight onto Pansy's desk. She let out a scream as it began to cartwheel around the edges. Professor Moody jerked his wand and the spider jumped onto Goyle's head, who slapped his fingers over his eyes, moaning fearfully.

"Don't worry! It's completely harmless now," The professor said lightly and then flicked his wand again and the spider jumped onto Daphne's hand. She went very rigid as the spider suddenly rose onto two of its hind legs and began to tap dance. Not one of the Slytherins laughed, but Professor Moody apparently thought it was very funny indeed as he couldn't seem to help the short bites of laughter from bubbling out of him. "If she bites, she's lethal," he growled out as the spider was forced to crawl up Bulstrode's arm, who shrieked in terror.

Theodore's eyes darted, following the path of the massive spider.

"The Imperius curse," Professor Moody lectured while he continued to dance the spider across their desks and persons. Harry didn't flinch at the ticklish sensation as the spider crawled onto his hand and jumped onto his cheek and then climbed to sit momentarily atop his messy hair.

"It allows complete and total control of a living thing." The spider flung itself towards the window to Harry's left where a bucket of water was. "I could even make her drown if I wanted."

Every eye was fixed on the hapless spider who twitched and spasmed away from the water, appearing to try to escape death but unable to.

"Stop! We understand!" Harry shouted when everyone else was silent with fear. "The Imperius Curse can make you do whatever the caster wants."

The spider very quickly hopped away from the bucket when she was briefly released from the grip of magic, and Professor Moody levitated her back to his hand. "Total control," their professor said gruffly no longer looking amused. "Scores of witches and wizards have claimed that they _only _did You-Know-Who's bidding… under the influence of the Imperius Curse!" He swung his wand around, fixing a glare on Draco. "But here's the rub: How do we sort out the _liars_?"

Harry swallowed as the spider was placed once more under the glass cover. Professor Moody apparently had never forgotten that Lucius Malfoy had wiggled out of a sentence to Azkaban with that very lie.

"The Imperius Curse _can_ be fought. I'm going to teach you today how to do that. It takes real strength of character, and not everyone's got it. Better to avoid being hit by it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He bellowed suddenly, causing every one of them to jump in their seats. "I'm going to Imperio each and every one of you to demonstrate its power. We'll see how you'll resist its effects… Everyone one up, UP!"

They all hopped to their feet taking their schoolbags with them. No one argued.

"Now, in line with Dumbledore's request of voluntary participation, I will allow you to excuse yourself if you're too much of a yellow-bellied coward to face the Imperius Curse." He fixed a hard stare on them with his normal eye while the other spun around. "Of course, then you'd learn the hard way—when someone's putting it on you to control you completely. Anyone want to run off, the exit's behind you." When no one moved, Professor Moody looked among the Slytherins with a smile on his face. "No? Then let's begin in alphabetical order," he ordered.

One by one, Harry watched as his classmates did the most extraordinary things under the influence of the Imperius Curse. Bulstrode performed a hand-stand; Crabbe did one-handed cartwheels while reciting the dates of a series of goblin wars; Tracey stole a ring from Pansy's finger and imitated a chattering monkey as she hung off the roughly hewn stone wall; Goyle did a graceful pirouette on the tip of his foot; Daphne lifted a heavy desk with one small hand; Draco imitated the caw of a crow and attempted to clean his nonexistent wing feathers; Theodore began to speak and sing in a guttural, haunting language Harry had never heard before; Pansy performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics; and Sally-Anne levitated herself off the ground a few inches with a wand in hand, impressing everyone in the room. Not one of them seemed able to fight off the curse, and each of them recovered only when Professor Moody had removed it.

Now his year-mates turned to him. Harry swallowed.

"Potter," their professor growled, "You next."

Harry moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that the others had stood when it was their turn. The professor raised his wand at Harry and said harshly, "_Imperio!_"

It was the most wonderful feeling. Harry was floating as every thought and worry in his head evaporated. There was nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness… which Harry's mind slightly suspected. He stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching him. Why had no one told him how great it felt to be under the Imperius Curse?

And then he heard Mad-Eye Moody's voice, echoing in some distant chamber of Harry's largely empty brain. _Jump onto the desk… jump onto the desk…_

Harry bent his knees obediently, preparing to spring, and then stopped. _Why, though?_ The suspicious voice had awoken more fully in the back of his mind. _Stupid thing to do, really_, said the voice.

_Jump onto the desk…_ Moody's voice repeated.

_No, I don't think I will, thanks, might hurt myself attempting it_, the voice said, a little more firmly. Harry straightened from his crouch, feeling relaxed once again.

_Jump. Onto. The. Desk!_

_No, I don't really want to… There's no reason to do it._ Harry stared blankly at Professor Moody.

_JUMP! NOW!_ The voice had a roar like Vernon Dursley's.

The next thing Harry felt was considerable pain. He had thrown himself to the ground instead of jumping, which was why his ribs, chin, and kneecaps felt as if they'd been split by a hammer. The empty, echoing feeling in his head disappeared.

"Now, _that's_ more like it!" Professor Moody sounded delighted. "Look at that, you lot… Potter _fought!_ We'll try that again, and the rest of you pay attention—watch his eyes, that's where you see it—very good, Potter! They'll have trouble controlling _you_! Stand up, stand up!" He said impatiently.

Harry achingly returned to his feet. His year-mates were staring at him with varying degrees of amazement from stunned to smug.

"_IMPERIO!_" The professor cast forcibly.

Again, that wonderful feeling returned, and Harry felt carefree once more, though that suspicious voice at the back of his head woke up once again. _What's going on?_ The voice asked Harry who didn't feel like it needed a response.

_Don't fight it_, a distant voice whispered. _It feels good doesn't it? Not having to worry about anything at all._

_Maybe we're drugged_, the voice said.

_You want to scratch your nose… doesn't it itch?_

_Not really_, came the voice again. Harry felt so good, like a nameless nobody without a care in the world.

_Isn't there something you'd like to tell one of your friends?_

_No, I tell them everything_, the voice reasoned easily.

_There must be some deep, dark secret you don't want them to know…_

In the emptiness of Harry's mind a memory of Tom Riddle rippled into existence, '_You and I share pieces of the same soul…'_

_Ah-ha! I was right. Well… Go on. Tell them a secret… no harm in it, right?_

A flicker of unease was smoothed out by the glorious feeling. Harry felt himself rock in place on his feet. _I don't see how it's any of their business_, the voice argued.

_You want to be honest with them, don't you? How can you call yourself friend when you hold yourself back?_

_Of course_. It made perfect sense. You don't keep secrets from friends. Harry opened his mouth, "You know two years ago when I was in the Chamber of Secrets—" _NO, DON'T TELL THEM THAT_, the voice screamed, and Harry clamped his mouth shut. He was somewhat aware of the focused looks from every single one of his year-mates, but stares didn't bother him in the slightest.

_Look at them, your friends are so suspicious now… you'll lose them if you don't tell them…_

Quite reasonable train of thought, indeed. "Tom Riddle said that—"

_NO, NO, NO!_ The voice was having a tantrum. Harry frowned, feeling a bit put off by it for some reason. _GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_ Suddenly the emptiness left Harry's head, and he took a deep breath as sensations and sense of self came crashing back. His fingers and toes were like ice as he trembled. Why had he gone along with Professor Moody's words? Even if it felt wonderful, it was a poison like antifreeze, which he remembered someone telling him about its lethal sweetness.

He was quite aware of the amazed stares upon him and really wished they wouldn't. He felt exhausted.

"Very good indeed, Potter," Professor Moody said chuckling with pleasure. His wand thrust forward once more. "**_IMPERIO_**_!"_

Harry gasped once, and his body relaxed once more his anxiety fading to nothing again.

_What's…_ the voice trailed off, losing track of what was going on. He was barely aware that he was even a student at Hogwarts. Mostly, he wanted to find a spot to sit in the sun and enjoy the breeze going through his hair... No worries, no cares to speak of.

_There's a window over there with plenty of sunlight…_ A faraway voice echoed through him.

Harry obediently stepped towards the window and tilted his head up under the beams of light pouring through the window; his eyes closed. It felt good to be under the sunlight.

_Don't you want to feel a breeze…? Open the window._

He unlocked the latch and yanked the window open, leaning against the window sill in the crisp fall breeze. He didn't even feel the cold now, not with the warm stone beneath his palms.

_Ever wondered how it's like to fly…?_

_Loads of times…_, the voice said lethargically.

_Why don't you push yourself off then and give it a try… I heard the fall is like flying…_

Harry shoved his hands and feet against the wall climbing. As he stood on the deep window sill, he looked down at the grounds far below, like the velvet green of the Quidditch Pitch.

Somewhere behind him as if far away, someone was screaming at him to get down, get down now!

_Arms out… very good. Feel the breeze, push your foot forward and...!_

Harry lifted a foot in anticipation, but a dark, murky voice from the back of his mind suddenly screamed, **DON'T LISTEN!** He put his foot down, still feeling relaxed. **YOU WILL OBEY ONLY ME! NOW, TURN AND GET DOWN, YOU HALF-WIT HALFBLOOD, BEFORE I MURDER YOU MYSELF! **The sinister voice had a strange hissing quality to it.

Blinking stupidly, Harry turned and saw that his classmates were staring at him in horror. Part of him wondered if he might have fallen asleep during a lecture. He often had life-or-death nightmares replete with an uncomfortable amount of staring, and this seemed quite in line with them.

"_IMPERIO!" _A soft, delightful chuckle came through Harry's empty mind, causing him to smile and wait for the next command to fall. _It's much better to fall backwards anyway, isn't it?_

**DON'T YOU DARE**, the hissy voice snarled out at Harry as he grabbed the sides of the window and leaned back. He straightened again. Distantly he heard someone sobbing, pleading to let him go; others were whimpering or gasping. Harry shook his head slightly, feeling the need to dislodge something from his forehead.

_But I thought you wanted to fly…? _The voice whispered sadly.

_On a broom!_ A kinder voice yelled. Harry rather preferred that one.

_Then tell them what the Dark Lord told you in the Chamber of Secrets… We all wish to know…_

Harry blinked sluggishly, eyes twitching towards Professor Moody whose wand was aimed right at him. Harry's body wasn't cooperating; his tongue was leaden, his mouth full of cotton, and hands hung limply by his sides. He was only aware now because the black anger was cresting, building to terrifying heights, filling in the shadows of his mind with terribly familiarity.

_I won't force you to jump out the window, if you tell them…_

He hesitated, and then his mouth opened, "Tom Riddle said that we're not so different, since we're both Half-blood Parselmouth orphans, raised by abusive Muggles and Sorted into Slytherin… that we could be—" The first voice was screaming again. _SHUT YOUR MOUTH RIGHT NOW!_

_…Could be what…?_ That echoey voice asked. Quite suddenly, Harry wavered on the sill, leaning back over the grounds. The breeze felt cool against his skin, the sun warming, and yet sharp, cutting ice filled him.

**YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!** The sinister voice promised, growing larger and larger and larger, filling up the emptiness inside Harry's brain. Suddenly Harry tensed, sweaty fingers curling tightly against the seams of the window. Unsure of what he was doing, he flung himself forward into the classroom and crashed on top of a desk below. Rolling with the momentum, he ripped out his wand and snarled out, "_FLIPENDO!"_

The Knockback Jinx caught Professor Moody in mid-cast, and the wand flew out of his hand as the rest of him soared back, cracking into the opposite wall. The adult slumped to the floor unconscious. Nobody dared to utter a word.

Harry glared at his classmates, many of whom flinched under his inspection. "He is **_my_ **prey," he whispered. Of the nine, only Draco nodded; Theodore and Sally-Anne had matching frowns of worry, while the others had sickened or worried expressions—excluding Crabbe who looked quite impressed. None of them approached the downed Professor Moody to check to see if he was still breathing.

And then the clods of fury folded back, and Harry unsteadily got to his feet. His wand was vibrating in his hand, warming his palm. The sensation traveled down his arm and into his chest, and Harry thought he could breathe again. Draco offered his schoolbag, and Harry snatched it away. "Class dismissed," he said with a relieved chuckle and hobbled out of the classroom to the Great Hall.

His year-mates shadowed him without a word or whisper. For once, Harry didn't care whether or not he had hurt someone. That loon had nearly sent him tumbling out the third-floor window and had forced him to spill part of a secret that Harry had kept from his year-mates... He sighed softly.

He certainly wouldn't be the one to notify their overprotective Head of House about their DADA professor's crazy teaching methods, especially after Harry had sent the seasoned wizard flying. He was also aware that the headmaster really ought to know about the professor's unorthodox methods, but Harry didn't think the elderly wizard would take kindly to his close friend taking a crack to his head. Harry couldn't claim self-dense, not when there was the more harmless Disarming Charm he could have used. Besides, to say that the headmaster didn't already know the type of person this Alastor Moody was might be seen as an affront to his intelligence. There would be no benefit to Harry to bring the matter up, only potential detractions.

Slowly hesitant murmuring and whispering arose behind him. Harry wondered whether attacking a Hogwarts staff member was grounds for expulsion and whether he would manage to wiggle out of punishment as he had all the other times before if charges were brought against him. He'd have to inventory up the survival pack he'd made the previous summer in case he needed to run.

He would never allow anyone to break his wand or send him to Azkaban when he was only defending himself against nutters, like Professor Moody. And if the wizard pressed charges… well, Moody didn't precisely have a very good reputation left if he'd been forced to retire early. And, Harry very much doubted that the adult would manage to stay out of the prison himself after attempting to magically compel the Boy-Who-Lived to jump out a window.

A shiver ran through him, remembering what had helped prevent a fall from great heights. The wrathful voice had been much closer this time, screaming by his ear instead of whispering by his shoulder. He'd gone months without hearing it and worried whether it was his anger that drove it out or stress over his own sense of safety. Neither explained how it—the voice—could take hold of his body and perform Dark magic beyond his knowledge or capability, and Harry certainly didn't want to dwell on it. He was just glad it had decided to use a non-lethal spell on Moody.

He knew the signs of an unsound mind; he'd done some reading to better understand the Longbottoms' mute and regressed condition. He knew this, and yet decided to keep it to himself. The second-to-last place he ever wanted to end up was on the closed ward in St. Mungo's where Neville's parents currently resided. All he needed to do was to avoid situations which triggered whatever-it-was from surfacing and he'd be alright. He needed to be alright.


	6. Bloody Unforgivables

_**Author's Notes: **Late update this week. So busy. Naming this chapter was murder.  
_

* * *

A tense Thursday passed somewhat uneventfully. His scar had ached for the better part of the day after he'd woken from a deep sleep that, for once, hadn't been belabored with nightmares. Against his expectations neither Snape nor the prefects cornered Harry about the events that had transpired in the DADA classroom, nor did his fellow fourth-years bring up what had happened. The headmaster didn't seem particularly concerned with Harry during meals either, which meant that Moody was just as tight-lipped about what happened as Harry and his housemates. So long as that held true, Harry wouldn't need to act; In the meantime, Harry was preoccupied with creating convincing half-truths when the questions inevitably arose. His small survival pack was awaiting his use in the green pouch with his Invisibility Cloak.

The first Charms lesson had been on the Undetectable Super-Extended Charm as Professor Flitwick had promised Harry in their correspondence. The lesson really wasn't all that difficult. The professor even gave tips on how to upgrade an item already charmed with the Extension Charm. After Harry did the assigned task, he emptied the green pouch of the sickles he'd gotten from Ron before the end of last term, along with two other items. He upgraded the pouch with the more advanced charm and then pressed the items back into it. Though his every move was catalogued by his year-mates, only Theodore seemed to have comprehension of what the rolled, black pack was.

Then there had been lunch, during which Harry hurried back to the Slytherin dungeons to add the new charm to his trunk while it was still fresh in his mind. Ever watchful, Draco and his pawns had trailed after him like a line of goslings. After successfully performing the charm, Harry quickly had slammed all his things back into his trunk, tapping it to enable the Locking sequence and rushed down to the Great Hall to get a plate to eat before Snape assigned detention for skipping lunch. If Draco and the others had trouble keeping up with Harry's swift pace, well that wasn't his problem.

Half an hour later, Transfigurations class had nearly driven Harry to hopeless frustration. Only the memory of the sinister voice from before reminded him to take a moment to collect himself. He had failed to conjure a flake of metal out of thin air. Having read the assignments, Harry had learned that conjuring something up was an Art of Transfiguration, not some specialized summoning spell. He thought he'd sooner go mad than create something out of air—and he was far too close to the former than he'd like. By the end of class, Harry had been the only one who hadn't finished the classwork as assigned. Merlin's beard, he thought, even _Crabbe_ had managed to conjure a fleck of something even if it wasn't the correct metal! Professor McGonagall then gave them loads and loads of homework, writing essays and reading books and the like. Quite embarrassed by his complete lack of ability, Harry knew he would have to ask Terry Boot for suggested texts on Chaos Theory.

There was dinner and then the Slytherins returned to their dungeon; still, nobody bore down upon Harry demanding answers. With a grin, he hoped that would remain the case.

Friday morning was Double Herbology with Professor Sprout. Even though he didn't dream, an exhausted Harry was glad to be outside, mucky weather and all. Across the sodden vegetable patch, the Slytherins and Ravenclaws had arrived in greenhouse three. Professor Sprout was showing them the ugliest plants Harry had ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick, black giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

"Bubotubers," the professor told them briskly. "They need squeezing. You will collect the pus in these bottles—"

"The _what_?" Pansy said, sounding revolted.

"Pus, Parkinson, pus," Professor Sprout said, apparently amused at Pansy's increasingly disgusted expression. "And it's extremely valuable, so don't waste it."

"Bubotuber Pus is used in Zit-Clearing Salve, right Professor Sprout?" Draco spoke up.

"Quite right. Five points to Slytherin. Madam Pomfrey will be very happy to have a large supply of the salve to prevent students from resorting to desperate measures…" The Herbology teacher looked around. "Well, what're you waiting for, an invitation? Get your dragon-hide gloves on; the pus can do funny things to the skin in its undiluted form."

Slipping the gloves on, Harry immediately got to work. Squeezing the bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. He heard several Ravenclaws and a few Slytherins retching each time a swelling splattered open. From each swelling, Harry collected a large amount of thick yellowish-green liquid, which smelled strongly of petrol, into the provided bottles.

"It's not the worst thing I collected," Draco was saying to Theodore on the other side of Harry, "The Cream of Grin-Lilies is the absolute worst. My godfather made me collect some when I was eight. It resembles chunks of clotted blood and it smells like rotting shellfish. I couldn't eat lobster for weeks."

For some reason every witch who'd heard him burst into giggles.

Draco had frowned, when Theodore merely grinned. Then Harry's friend asked, "What potion would you say you use it for?"

"Wamba Pain Alleviation."

Now even the Ravenclaw boys were snickering.

"What is so funny?" Draco said irately.

"Ah, to make a stab in the dark… it alleviates the pain of the 'wamba', the womb… Better known for being taken during a week out of every lunar month by witches on the rag." Theodore shot a look at Anthony Goldstein—the only one not snickering among the Ravenclaw wizards—who nodded with a smug grin.

Draco's face burned a rather dark shade of red. After glancing around to see that Professor Sprout had moved into the adjacent room, he snarled, "_Shut it!_", at those who had burst into helpless giggling at Theodore's words.

"Why would their wombs hurt?" Harry asked without pausing from his work of collecting the pus.

Everyone exchanged glances with everyone else. Disliking that, Harry viciously popped another swelling, which made several of them turn away with a disgusted look. To the left of him, Draco was giving him an unreadable look. For once, the prat kept whatever rude comments rattling around his head to himself.

"From cramping." When Harry leveled him with a puzzled look, Theodore staved off his next question with an upraised hand. "Tell you what, Harry," he said, "I have just the book for you that'll tell you everything you need to know."

"Alright," Harry muttered, quite embarrassed not to know something that, clearly, his classmates did. He ducked his head down and continued popping swellings, trying to ignore the whispers.

After they had collected several pints of Bubotuber Pus, a booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, and the class left for lunch. Before entering Hogwarts, Harry cast a Scourgify and a Refreshening charm over him, disliking the stink and grime that came from handling the Bubotubers. He understood why his Slytherin year-mates had chosen to follow him around like a bunch of Potterheads—though clearly separated between witches and wizards with Sally-Anne and Theodore in the middle—rather than walk with him side-by-side. They were cautious after witnessing what he'd done to Professor Moody and perhaps even eager to see what he would do next. Since he really wasn't in the mood for it, Harry was quite happy to take advantage of their hesitance to start a conversation outside of class.

Maybe it wasn't quite fair to Theodore and Sally-Anne since they had largely ignored him since the start of the term. The flushed cheeks and bruises on their necks were the new normal, but it was odd that neither of them had announced any sort of relationship formally yet. He did feel a small amount of loss when he realized that they were smitten with one another and hoped they wouldn't forget him entirely for the rest of the year. Otherwise, Harry would have to look for more friends outside of Slytherin. Unfortunately, among their year Draco was the only exception; he would throw out comments on this or that thing when he felt it was relevant and expect some sort of response. It was quite aggravating.

When they finally made it to the Great Hall, Harry glanced up to the staff table and immediately noticed that Professor Moody was absent. The four witches went to sit by some third year girls while Harry's closest friends found a less populated part of the table to sit and eat. "Where's Moody?"

"Evidently," Draco began with a quiet tone over Harry's right shoulder, "someone replaced the sticks of chalk he preferred with cursed chalk. He's, ah, _resting _in his personal chambers. You see, he refused to stay in the infirmary against Madam Pomfrey's advice."

Taking a seat beside Theodore, Harry turned to level Draco with a curious look.

A pleased smirk curled his lips. "Rumor has it there was a message written across his face which resembled a pincushion when the chalk exploded."

"What did it say?" Harry didn't like how Draco was looking at him.

"'Do not invade the minds of Dark Lords for you are but flesh awaiting death.' Rather curious, don't you think? The culprit could be _any_ student, since Professor Moody finished his last class of the week this morning."

"It wasn't me," Harry said a bit too quickly and then ate a large forkful of cooked carrots.

Draco shook his head. "Of course not. It doesn't follow your history of avoiding open conflict, nor do you have the required skill to create the cursed chalk or the means of getting it. Frankly, I think you've got a secret admirer."

"A secret admirer who leaves horrific messages?"

"It's that or a powerful rival. Which version do you prefer?"

A snort erupted from Harry. "If you're going to come up with an alibi, then at least make it believable."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "I don't know where you picked up the idea that I had anything to do with this. Even if I happen to think Professor Moody's exercise was only meant to force you to submit to his control, since a fall from that height wouldn't have killed you, I'm not stupid enough to go after someone else's mark."

The memory of Neville falling from a great height and surviving with only a broken wrist came to mind. Unsettled, Harry shrugged and then turned to his left. Past Theodore, a frowning Sally-Anne was picking at her food listlessly. For once that year, the two weren't sharing food or drink. "What do you think about the attack on Moody, Theo?"

His friend looked a bit wan, but not as drained as Lupin had this close to the full moon. "I think you should be careful. The culprit might make themselves known to you, whoever they are. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting some sort of reward."

Nodding, Harry took up a roll, and the subject was dropped. Conversation turned to more mundane topics. There was some gossip about the Weasley twins feuding with Peeves the Poltergeist, leaving swaths of hard-to-clean clutter in their wake in the upper floors far from Bloody Baron's preferred haunting ground. There was talk of various year-mates pairing off into dates—Draco had nothing good to say about Susan Bones and Dean Thomas, particularly about the latter wizard, but that was unsurprising due to him being Muggle-born— and then a brief, condescending announcement by Draco about accepting his first challenge from a _girl_.

Quickly thereafter, Theodore switched the conversation to a discussion about how his da wanted him to begin apprenticeship projects once or twice a month, considering how difficult it would be to acquire the necessary skills to create Dark Creature Sensors. "Granda waited until Da started in his sixth year, but Da thinks it'd be better to have me start early."

"If you're apprenticing, then it'll be quite difficult to keep up with the Hogwarts curriculum," Draco said.

"Yes, it will be. But I'll have help." He grinned towards Sally-Anne who seemed to find her plate of food more enticing. "Besides, Da's already peeved at me. He wants me out of Hogwarts."

"I suppose part-time school is better than none at all," Draco said breezily. "I think it'd be best to at least get your O.W.L.s before you pull out."

"I'll do better and sit for my N.E.W.T.s."

"Well, I applaud your ambition. Not everyone finishes their seventh year when they've already an occupation guaranteed to them."

"Yeah." Theodore smiled thinly, his eyes were partly shadowed. Before Draco had noticed, Harry's friend had turned his eyes to the plate in front of him to finish his meal.

Unhappily, lunch ended shortly after that. Harry did not want to go to his least favorite class, Double Potions. He wasn't particularly _bad_ at brewing potions; It was the professor and Head of House he had been avoiding where possible. His longing for family last year had blinded him to Snape's motives and shut his ears to the truth Mrs. Longbottom had imparted. The greasy-haired git only looked out for himself and no other. That truth still stung, even when Harry didn't want to care any longer about a mistake.

Despite his yearning to skive off Potions, his feet carried him down the stairs to the dungeons and into the chilly, dank Potions classroom with his house-mates. Looking at the board, he noticed they would be brewing a Dreamless Sleep Draught. He dutifully collected his cauldron and a small box of potions ingredients. Setting the pewter cauldron onto the little steel stand, Harry opened his Potions textbook to the page the blackboard declared. Many of his classmates milled about awaiting direction.

Snape with his black robes stormed into the Potions lab not a moment later, looking furious but not quite as angry as when Sirius Black had escaped. "Are you waiting for an invitation? Fifteen points from Gryffindor—" There was a loud outcry over that. They really ought to have known by now. It was their own fault, really. "You have seen the written instructions. _Get to work_ before I assign detention as well, you incompetent lumps."

The redhead to his right was attempting to pass a note to him, but Harry wanted none of that, particularly under Snape's hawkish gaze. Ron got the idea and handed the slip of paper back to Hermione who didn't look very pleased at all to be rebuffed. Better her ire than Snape's detention assignments, Harry thought. She could send post if she really wanted.

He read over the instructions and the finer details. He was immediately aware of a niggling feeling at the back of his mind. Harry clamped down his thoughts, imagining the cupboard under the stairs, and the feeling vanished. Forcing himself not to glare, he stared down at the page of his book, knuckles white as they tightly gripped the pages.

Not a minute later, Harry heard Snape say, "Longbottom, melt through another cauldron today and you will _sorely_ regret it."

Neville whimpered as he muttered the instructions from the book aloud, his fingers trembling.

After the thought occurred to him that his brother may have forgotten to replace the surviving cauldron from last year, Harry immediately stood up and went to the space allotted for his Potions supplies to fetch a brand-new one. He stalked over to Neville, who made an alarmed noise when Harry snatched the cauldron from the steel ring it was propped up on.

"What are you doing?" Finnigan demanded with steel in his voice.

Dropping the brand-new cauldron onto Neville's set-up with a dull thunk, Harry then shoved his hand through the bottom of Neville's shiny cauldron. He wiggled his fingers at his wide-eyed brother to show just how unhurt he was from punching out the bottom of his cauldron.

"Oi! Look here! You can't go around ruining people's things on a whim!" The Gryffindor snarled.

Broken cauldron held in the crook of his left arm, Harry already had his wand drawn, but kept against his side in case Finnigan tried anything. Quite aware that his brother was likely gaping at him, Harry said towards Finnigan, "It was rubbish, Neville. I gave you a new one." Finnigan kept glaring; Harry wasn't sure why the Gryffindor held such a strong grudge against him. He had more reason to hate Draco than anyone in the room.

"What seems to be the problem?" Behind him, Professor Snape's voice was dangerously quiet.

"_This _is rubbish," Harry said loudly in his direction and chunked the broken cauldron into the massive dustbin reserved for ruined cauldrons. Before it clattered to a stop, he had already returned to his seat. Snape didn't say a word as he looked thoughtfully towards the dustbin.

"Professor!" came Finnigan's outraged voice.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Finnigan, for not staying on task," Snape said before returning to his desk.

Taking the chunks of Valerian Root and placing them into his mortar, Harry smirked when Finnigan turned narrowed eyes to him.

"I'm so proud of you," Draco's lofty, condescending voice announced from the desk, a level down and in front of Harry's as if he were a prized dog. It ruined the good feeling Harry had fostered from helping his brother.

"Can it, Malfoy," Ron hissed beside Harry, who hadn't bother to respond to Draco's taunts while he pulverized the root with the ceramic pestle. Glancing to his right, Ron and Hermione had already begun working on their own potions; Hermione had a smile of approval on her face.

"If you ask nicely, I might."

Ron choked and then immediately looked down when Snape passed behind them. As soon as the Potions Master began to berate Lavender Brown for not grinding the root down to its proper coarseness before beginning her potion, Ron hissed out, "_Please_ shut your gob, Malfoy."

"Sorry? I couldn't hear you." Draco smirked.

Ron went red in the face, gnashing his teeth.

Harry took pity on the Gryffindor. "If you don't get to work, you won't finish your potion in time, Draco."

With a smile, Draco turned in his seat to continue preparing the ingredients.

"I don't know how you do it. I would've murdered him by now if I had to share a bloody room with him," Ron whispered to Harry.

Harry shrugged. To his left, Theodore seemed more interested in how Sally-Anne was preparing ingredients on the table to the left of them than his own, which was looking to be quite a mess. Harry wasn't about to start harping about a subject the werewolf didn't really care all that much about and so let it go.

In his own mortar, the root was grinding down slowly, contributing to the putrid stench in the air that had begun to fill the Potions classroom as the students worked to render the dried Valerian Root into dust. Finished, Harry scooped four measures of the yellow-white powder into his cauldron and added nine sprigs of Lavender.

Uncorking several vials of Flobberworm Ooze, he dumped them into the mixture and then tapped the the cauldron stand with his wand. The steel set-up began to glow a dark red color, and Harry began to stir the mixture six times anti-clockwise and then six times in the other direction.

Once the potion was fully blended and bubbles formed, Harry tapped his wand against the metal stand again. The heat rose higher and he stirred it ten times anti-clockwise and then ten times in the opposite direction, repeating until it began to boil. With a single tap, he removed the heat and the cauldron began to cool. He left it untouched then, glancing at the clock on the wall. The draught took ten minutes to set completely before it was safe to bottle.

Theodore looked into Harry's cauldron. "I think you've done yours perfectly," he said, disheartened.

Harry blinked and stood up to look into his friend's cauldron. Instead of looking clear and gelatinous, Theodore's had a brownish tinge to it and smelled foul. Harry bit down the cheeky impulse to tell him to pay more attention to the brewing process. He suspected that had Theodore been minding pudding on a stove, it would have long been past scorched and firmly in the realm of badly burned by now.

"Bottle it up, Nott," Snape said lowly from behind them, causing Harry to startle. Bloody adult was the only one who could sneak up on him on a regular basis.

"But it's got to sit for ten—"

"Do you want detention?"

"No, sir…" Theodore said miserably and used his ladle to pour the warm contents of his cauldron into a large flask and stoppered it.

"Then I suggest that you keep your hands preoccupied with your potion rather than your girlfriend." The bespectacled Slytherin turned bright red as Theodore moved over on the bench to put space between them. He sighed, looking at congealed dark brown substance within the flask.

Eyeing the retreating black-robed, slouched form, Harry reminded himself that it wouldn't be much longer before he left the dingy classroom.

"Violet…" Snape growled over Neville's flinching head. "_Longbottom_, the instructions specifically said _nine_ sprigs of lavender, not _nineteen_. Detention. Tonight. I have a barrel full of horned toads, and I need their brains and livers."

Neville whimpered, pressing his face against the table, while Draco began to laugh maliciously.

"Quiet, Draco," Harry snapped. The professor's black eyes flicked to Harry, who quickly glared down at the table and then at his godson.

Effectively silenced, Draco leaned his chair against the front of Harry's table and smirked up at him. Harry scowled and fixed his eyes on the clock, expecting to hear Snape continue harassing Neville. It was not to be.

"Flirt on your own time, boys," Snape drawled out the side of his mouth, enunciating every word.

Blood rushed to Harry's face as he bit his tongue to stop the response begging to fall, _If that's flirting, then Finnigan's bloody well sleeping with him! _ Of course, the bloody prat looked pleased with himself, facing towards his workstation again like a good student. Around Harry, several Gryffindors let out helpless snickering, though they attempted to muffle it with their hands and fists. Ron gave himself a rather loud smack the face to cure himself of the sudden onset of compulsive giggling. That at least gave Harry distraction enough to exert control over his anger.

When Professor Snape's eyes raked over the redhead, Ron was looking solemnly at his cauldron as he stirred. Finding no sign of anything amiss, the Potions Master continued prowling through the classroom to peer into Gryffindors' cauldrons to deduct points if they made a mess of it.

Leaning back once more, Draco grinned with oozing amusement, while Harry glared at him. This was _his_ ruddy fault that Snape thought that Harry—"Potter, I thought I told you to stop making eyes at my godson."

Crabbe accidentally knocked Goyle's set-up over when he began to laugh like a drain. Draco casually flicked his wand, casting a spell to put the fire out.

Boiling with rage, Harry turned a dark look at Snape. The bloody bastard was amused! _Don't react, be civil…_ Harry chanted in his head, wishing the damn minute hand on the clock would move faster. He breathed deeply attempting to calm down. _Won't owe anything to Draco if you keep it together. Which is probably why the prat is trying to set me off. _Oh, Harry wouldn't give him that and definitely wouldn't give the greasy-haired bastard the satisfaction of assigning detention to Harry on the first day of Potions.

Snape, who had made his third round about the classroom, lazily gestured to the Dreamless Sleep Draught still remaining in Harry's cauldron. "I would bottle that before it spoils, Potter. Be careful not to spill a drop… lest your grade gets docked," he said in that irritating, measured way that always got under Harry's skin. Mercilessly shoving the anger away, Harry flexed his fingers against the table's underside until he regained his calm. There was no black rage, no sinister voice. Small blessing, that.

Once the Potions Master had turned away, Ron and Hermione looked at Harry and then at Snape's back and then at Harry again with equally perplexed expressions, though Ron's was much more comical with his overly expressive wide eyes and gaping mouth. The redhead appeared to want to say something, but thought better of it and looked down at his cauldron of bubbling muck. Harry thought this was a good choice considering that at the moment he wasn't entirely averse to starting a fight.

Snatching up the ladle next to his cauldron, Harry bottled the thick potion, corked, and labeled it. Turning it in with a harsh jab of his hand, he returned to his table to grab his dirty cauldron and used tools to clean them before the potion hardened into cement. He didn't miss the looks of pity from several of the Gryffindors in the room.

"Harry the Fairy," Finnigan muttered under his breath as Harry passed to put the clean items away. So unexpected as that slur was—which shouldn't have been—he jerked mid-step and spun to face him.

"What did you say?" He asked in a perfectly calm voice that didn't betray the array of feelings raging inside of him.

"I _said_, Harry don't tarry, forever to carryin', the love o' berries." The Gryffindor's grin was demented and inimical.

"That will be another ten points from Gryffindor and two weeks' worth of detention, Finnigan," Snape announced from his desk at the front of the classroom where a ledger full of students' Potions marks lay. "For the inattention to your potion and another ten points from Gryffindor for your pitiful attempt at haiku."

After Harry returned to his workspace to collect his unused ingredients to store them with the rest of his supplies, he grabbed his schoolbag and stormed out of the Potions classroom without waiting to be dismissed.

It was the end of first week of classes, and Harry already felt the start was a portent of the school term to follow.

Since Harry had a few hours to himself without being followed around, he walked through the corridors, chatting with this painting and that until the bell tolled for dinner. He felt much more at peace when he settled in and let his housemates' conversations wash over him without participating much.

After dinner, as promised, Theodore handed a worn book to him in their dorm room, though Harry could feel the eyes of his remaining roommates on him. "It'll tell you everything you need to know."

Harry sat at his desk and cracked open the tattered book, which was entitled _Know Your Maturing Body: The development into adulthood for wizards and witches_, only to shut it after a few pages in, his ears bright red from the very detailed animated drawings of a time lapse of two similar nude forms sprouting hair and changing shape as they went through puberty; he'd known about the process of changing into a young adult, but nothing quite so detailed as the drawings had indicated. By Harry's own observations, girls clearly went through the process first, and clearly he would never be able to forget the nude drawings as they flashed through his mind again. He closed his eyes imagining the derivative of an equation from Arithmancy to force the image out of his head.

"That's a classic," Draco's voice said over his shoulder. "Should you have any questions—"

"I can manage fine on my own, thanks," Harry said abruptly as he shoved the book aside and pulled out his homework assignments. If he had any questions, he'd go straight to the library rather than deal with the likes of the prat who'd plainly preened when Snape told them to stop flirting. It wasn't as if Harry didn't already know about sex or the general idea of what to expect as he grew older.

With a sniff, his roommate moved away to work on his own assignments. The tension that had set in two days ago was unrelenting. Harry's scar began to ache again. He pressed a hand against his forehead and took a deep breath, closing his eyes. The drawing of the shapely nude female came to mind again, and he mercilessly shoved it out.

That Saturday, Theodore's Da removed Theodore from school, and he wouldn't be due back for a week. After a largely lazy day, Harry skipped the dueling session, instead going into Slytherin's Personal Study to chat with the ancient wizard's painting. Salazar Slytherin seemed concerned about Harry's general appearance, but Harry waved it off and requested that the Founder speak of the olden days when Hogwarts was still new and the Founders were still friends.

So, the painting talked at length about the great Lady Ravenclaw who had created the Triwizard Tournament to be a showcase event to magical families with prospective students, a coming-of-age rite meant to prove the mettle of a champion's character, _and_ to promote international cooperation between vastly distant and different kingdoms. "The Lady Ravenclaw's favorite quip was to say 'Why would I strike two birds with a stone when I could hit more?' She always strove for efficiency and precision in everything she did; a trait I admired." A drawn look came across the bald, bearded wizard. "I am saddened to see that the Triwizard Tournament has fallen far from its original purpose."

"How do you mean?" Harry asked.

"It was a ceremony to test a champion's wits and magic, not a trifling sporting event. By passing all three Tasks, not only does it show a strong sense of survival, but the Tournament was _designed_ to prove that age in the short term does not determine the true worth of a magical person. This talk of a monetary reward was never part of the original Tournament. It encourages, no doubt, magically skilled but weak-minded fools to leap willingly to their death," Slytherin said gruffly. His accent, while rough, was much improved from when Harry introduced his roommates in the Entrance Hall, which reminded him…

"Sir… This is off topic, but might I ask where you've kept your journals?"

Salazar Slytherin lifted a bushy eyebrow. "You seek deeper knowledge of the Dark Arts then?"

"Er. No… I have an ongoing argument with Draco Malfoy. He doesn't believe that you've always rejected blood purism."

"As expected. The Malfoys were one of the many sponsors of my research after I left Hogwarts. They wanted evidence that their blood purist theories were correct. My position was so untenable that I could not directly refute them without losing everything," the Founder said grimly. "Yes, you may take my entire thesis that disproves that pureness of blood lineage has anything to do with the gift of channeling magic. On the bottom shelf of the green bookcase a few paces to your left is where the two volumes are."

Harry nodded going to it. But when he checked the bottom shelf there was only a large space where the books must have been before they were taken. There was a great amount of dust. "Er, sir… nothing's there."

"…Then, Tom Riddle never returned them. Troubling, if that research has not become common knowledge."

Inhaling sharply at the sound of his enemy's name, Harry looked up in surprise. "You knew Tom Riddle?"

The wizard closed his eyes in thought. For a long moment, he said nothing and then, "Tom Marvolo Riddle is my descendant. I told him about Jinara in the Chamber of Secrets. I mentored him in the Dark Arts. He was a very quick study and absorbed everything in front of him. And when he began to argue about blood purity, I let him borrow the thesis. How do you know of him? He came far before your time."

"Because… Tom Riddle is the one who gave me this scar." Harry drew a finger over the lightning bolt.

There was a long moment when the painting said nothing as forest green eyes looked at the scar and then came a sigh.

"Little wonder then that his Englisce was heavily accented, if he was actually from this century…" The old wizard's face grew taut with a mixture of sadness and disgust. "I was led to believe that he would use the knowledge in a different manner… No matter. What's done is done. He's paid the price of understanding that a learned fool is a learned fool, whether the magic is Dark or Illume."

Harry nodded, not really understanding.

Salazar Slytherin stroked his beard and then paused, leaning to the right out of the frame of view. "It appears the dueling session is over. Earlier, Severus informed me that he enacts a very strict curfew."

"Yes, sir… I'll be going then."

"Peace be with you, young Potter."

_"Beo gesund, _Mr. Slytherin." Harry left through the hidden back entrance and re-entered through the portrait-hole behind the Thin Lady. As soon as Sally-Anne had seen him enter the common room, she burst into a wide grin, bouncing happily in place.

Harry's eyes flicked down at the front of her robes as the same confounded image of the nude drawing popped into his mind before he forced his eyes to her face. "You won then?"

She nodded, her hair flipping at the motion. "Yes!"

"Fantastic." It meant that Harry didn't owe Draco any more bloody favors. "I suppose he thought it was a fluke and challenged you to another duel?"

"Oh, _yes_!" Sally-Anne's entire posture looked jubilant at the prospect of knocking Draco's profound ego down another couple of notches.

"Have fun and if you need any tips just ask," Harry said and then traveled up the stairwell to the fourth-year boys' dormitory, somewhat eager to be away from her. Of late, he noticed he was having trouble focusing around witches.

The thought that Draco was sulking in their room banished any unwanted images from Harry's mind. Pity that the prat wasn't actually doing so.

Losing the duel had set fire in his blood. The blond was practicing a wide range of hexes and low-level curses on the very dummy that Harry had used some years ago. Playing chess, Crabbe and Goyle were hunkered behind a shield charm, which rippled with a light display whenever a spell ricocheted from the dummy.

"You lost then," Harry stated more than asked, knowing how it would infuriate the other teen.

Slightly out of breath, Draco shoved his wand into its holster. He spun around, eyes bright and wild. "You _knew_."

"You must've had some idea after seeing her levitate herself under the Imperius curse," Harry responded coolly. "Of course I knew how it would turn out, Draco. She's not the type to be overconfident. If she challenged you, then it went without saying that—"

"But instead of watching a _girl_ wipe the floor with me, you spared me the humiliation of your laughter. Why would you do that? I know we aren't friends, but you certainly don't act as if you secretly hate me either."

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew everyone would be occupied by the duel and had taken the option of slipping away to visit with Salazar Slytherin. "Would laughing at you now make you feel better?"

"Absolutely not."

"Then don't look a gift horse in the mouth. I was busy doing something else. It had nothing to do with you and, no, I won't tell you what it was."

Draco scowled, as his fingers traveled over his black wand. "I'm going to beat her. And when I do, you'll owe me two favors. And then—"

"Good night, Draco." While Harry Switched into his night robes, Draco opened his mouth and then wisely chose to shut it when Harry turned a glare on him, daring him to say something.

After Harry crawled under his covers, a calm voice said, "Good night, your Grace. Pleasant dreams."

Harry quietly summoned the edge of the curtains to his hand, closing them around him. Rolling over, he shoved his wand under his pillow and fell asleep.

* * *

The month of September gave way to October and with it more cold and damper weather. No one came to interrogate Harry. He suspected that no one would, unless he spilled the beans. Theodore had returned a few days after the full moon, looking little worse for wear but not sick. Sally-Anne caught him up to all his missing assignments in the common room and library; Harry rarely saw much of them during study and free periods to begin with, so Harry went with them, if only so that Draco and company weren't the only companions he had. At least Harry's four other Slytherin year-mates had found something else to entertain themselves with instead of tagging along.

Sometimes Pansy or Tracey would pass a note to Harry from Daphne warning him to keep his robes and personal effects ofree f stray hairs; she had earlier given him an incantation which would summon any of his hairs lying about so he might then Vanish them more easily. Basic Cleaning Charms often missed hair due to its similarity to thread, she had explained patiently in her neat handwriting. It confused Harry as to why anyone would want to Polyjuice him, beyond ruining his reputation.

That was on top of another development that had arisen nearly a week ago. One which required Harry to stay up later than any of the others to cast a Silencing Ward on his bed to keep them in the dark about it.

The following night was no different.

_A black-haired woman wearing robes screeched in agony as the Torture Curse tore through her. A minute passed and then another before the wand dropped. The witch sobbed with relief, sagging into the wooden floor in front of the blazing fireplace._

_"Who sent you, Hestia Jones?" came the quietly dangerous whisper._

_"Al-already said. D-dumbledore," she said weakly. "The headm-master."_

_"Why?"_

_"I don-don't know why… M-meant to keep my d-distance. To observe." _

"We will have to move, Nagini, and take our necessary preparations with us_…_ So few know that I am alive, even fewer who know my precise location Unplottable as it is… and yet we've been discovered. How. Is. This. **Possible**?_" The Parseltongue whisper caused Harry to uncurl from the place in front of the witch who flinched at the likely sinister sounds._

_"_Shall I eat her, Master?" Harry hissed.

"Patience, Nagini… I do not want you damaged by kicking prey."

_Hestia Jones let out a thready chuckle. "He m-must know by now that you're in Little Hangleton…" She laughed. "He m-must know how d-desperate—_

_The wand flicked again, "Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry thrashed and came awake. His night robes were soaked with sweat again. This had been the last of three nights that he'd dreamt of a witch being tortured, always from the point of view of a snake. Harry palmed his stinging scar in a soothing manner. Voldemort had gotten too active ever since Mundungus Fletcher…

That had been the first lured in by Bertha Jorkins. The wizard had broken within moments of the first Cruciatus Curse. He had nothing to say that was of interest to Voldemort and had spent his last moments begging for his life to be spared by promising anything and everything.

Unfortunately for him, Voldemort already had his docile servant and had desired no one as untrustworthy as the sad excuse of a wizard Fletcher clearly had been. Now, Harry knew he would have to write that Hestia Jones had been murdered as well and what she had told Voldemort in her last moments and what the madman had said about relocating. Forcing himself out of bed, he shakily tore off his soaked robes to allow the cool air to dry him. Wand in hand, he collected his writing materials and sat in the window sill.

_"Muffliato,_" he murmured. "_Dictus_."

In the light of a waning moon, ink flowed from the quill onto the parchment as Harry whispered the terrible evils he was cursed to observe from the position of a beloved pet snake. Before he signed his name, Harry asked what he might do to help stop Voldemort.

* * *

Arithmancy slowly progressed. Professor Vector seemed particularly pleased with the Calculus group's steady progress, since she had yet to assign them any homework. Boot had given Harry a beginner's book on Chaos Theory, while Sally-Anne and Hermione looked on worriedly. In Care of Magical Creatures, the Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. The half-giant added to their workload by suggesting they take alternate evenings to observe the Skrewts and make notes on their behavior.

"I will not," Draco flatly declared when Hagrid had posited this as if he were giving them the grand prize at the end of a telly programme. "I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks."

"Yeh'll do what yer told," Hagrid growled, his smile fading off his face, "or I'll have yeh makin' rounds in th' Forbidden Forest with me, Malfoy."

Draco frowned, but didn't say anything more after Harry gave him a warning look.

Professor Binns, the History of Magic teacher, droned on and on about various goblin rebellions and uprisings. During the study period, Harry opened the book on Chaos Theory and avidly read until the bell for dinner rang. He kept dozing off during Astronomy class, but Theodore kept him up-to-date about what he was supposed to learn.

On Thursday morning, Harry received a brief response from the headmaster. For once, Draco didn't even glance Harry's way when the envelope dropped into his hand. The other Slytherin was showing Crabbe the proper wand movement for a curse the larger boy had asked about.

_Dear Harry,_

_The information you've provided of your own accord has already helped immensely. I know you are distressed by the deaths of Mundungus Fletcher and Hestia Jones, but know that they did not die in vain. Aurors have been recalled from Georgia to provide added security to the Triwizard Tournament and to aid in the manhunt of an exceedingly dangerous wizard. _

_In addition, Muggle sightings of Ms. Jorkins suggest that she is not in an independent capacity. She would have contacted her family at the least upon her arrival to England. The Minister of Magic believes the events at the Quidditch World Cup could have stemmed from a security breach through Ms. Jorkins. The general consensus is that she may still be under an Imperius Curse and so necessary precautions have been made to ensure her safety should she be taken into Auror custody._

_If anything else out of the ordinary catches your attention, please don't hesitate to Owl me with your concerns. _

_Sincerely,_

_Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster of Hogwarts  
_

Folding the letter, he stuffed it back into its envelope and shoved it into his robes. Almost immediately, Draco turned to Harry. "Where've you been?"

With a curious thought, Harry pulled out the letter again and Draco's eyes grew unfocused and confused.

"Whatever you're doing stop that."

Harry shoved the letter back into his pocket. "Stop what? This?"

Again, Draco's eyes slid past him, before Harry tucked it away again.

"How are you doing that?"

"It should be obvious to someone who grew up among _magical folk_," Harry said in a deliberately snotty manner. He rather liked the annoyed expression that settled across Draco's features.

"I've never come across a Notice-Me-Not Spell as powerful as that one before."

"I'm nearly better at Charms work than you are now," Harry said.

Instead of arguing, Draco smiled in a proud way that set Harry's teeth on edge. "Your skill at magic has made incredible gains… Other than one pesky little class."

"Don't remind me," Harry said glumly.

Study of Ancient Runes was its usual madness. Harry thought he was getting steadily better at cracking the various patterns, though he certainly wasn't the best at it. He noticed it was always easier to do the classwork with a relaxed mind and steady hands than to panic when faced with an insurmountable task.

For the last several DADA lessons, they had been taught how to cast the Imperius Curse on spiders. As Professor Moody had explained it to them, it wasn't good enough to see it and know its effects. One had to have a more _intimate _knowledge of the subject to be better prepared for it. Harry promised he would cast it correctly once, just to get a feel for it. On his very first try the spider was under his complete control. He released the poor creature and spent the rest of class pretending he couldn't do it before anyone noticed. The Unforgivable had come too easily, easier than even his progress with charms.

Their current lesson was about the Cruciatus Curse, otherwise known as the Torture Curse. They were told to perform the curse on their own spider. Harry tried it once and then refused thereafter disturbed by the twitching and trembling spider, whose pincers scratched together in some semblance of a scream. As he watched how the others didn't hesitate to practice it, he did have to wonder whether teaching the students how to cast the Unforgivables was part of the approved curriculum... It certainly couldn't be legal.

'_If anything else out of the ordinary catches your attention, please don't hesitate to Owl me with your concerns.' _But as much as Harry greatly suspected that these spells weren't approved, he'd rather know them than not. It wasn't like a Death Eater would hesitate using them against him.

Indirectly looking toward the bad-tempered professor who corrected Goyle's spellcasting for the umpteenth time, Harry wasn't sure what to think. Professor Moody was extra vigilant with his chalk ever since that incident, only using sticks from a box he pulled from a pocket. No one had been indicted in the attack; gossip said that Professor Moody had said he'd take care of the problem himself, and it was obvious who he suspected from his furtive glances and hands-off manner: Harry Potter.

What bothered Harry was that the adult had never assigned detention or taken away House points for Harry's use of the Knockback Jinx on him; he never even pulled Harry aside to discuss that he was wrong to attack a teacher, barring the hypocrisy of the adult's overkill of the Imperius curse on Harry. In fact, there had been absolutely no mention of his violence against the professor at all.

Harry could not miss the wariness with which Professor Moody watched him. Not once had the wizard stumped by Harry to give him advice on casting or to comment on his haphazard participation. No, the adult gave him a wide berth, appearing much more interested in observing him like one of those collectors inspected a favored insect pinned inside a display case. Whenever it gave Harry the willies, he would turn a steady look at the professor with his demonic, whirling eye and deliberately place a hand on his holly wand. Professor Moody would grin and go back to correcting the others. The feeling of mistrust and unease was becoming deep-seated within Harry; there was something very off-putting about Mad-Eye Moody. What if he really was the servant sent by Voldemort?

Harry swiped the niggling fear away. If Mad-Eye Moody, vaunted hunter of Dark Arts practitioners, had been replaced by a staunch Dark Lord lover, then Harry's trust in Professor Dumbledore's competency would seriously be compromised. No, he had to believe that he was just being paranoid. Perhaps the headmaster already suspected him, Harry thought. Why else would he ask for Harry's input? But it was awfully vague, wasn't it? He couldn't just assume that Professor Moody was suspected from Dumbledore's letter.

Deciding to set the problem aside for now seemed the best option since Harry's brain was steadfast in its attempt to leave him in knots, instead of providing him with a solution. Theodore had given him a book on political espionage, which had detailed all manner of magical spying. A Secret Sensor could snoop out a Polyjuiced individual. The problem was that they were such delicate things; once broken, they gave inaccurate readings. Several would be needed to provide evidence simultaneously in front of adult witnesses to prove Harry's suspicions weren't unfounded. Since the class had been dismissed, Harry let that idea percolate.

Charms lesson was a breeze as usual, though Professor Flitwick had assigned three books to read in preparation for his unit on Summoning Charms, something which Harry had been able to do since his first year. Despite supplemental reading on Chaos Theory, Harry still slogged through lesson after lesson on conjuring an object out of thin air and was miserable when Professor McGonagall continued to assign loads of homework to him after each class period, while the others were given far less to do. The smirk on Draco's face only grew wider each time Harry failed as if there was an opportunity of improvement that Harry was missing. Harry knew where that would lead: to more bloody favors. He would figure out what he was doing wrong, and failing that there was always Sally-Anne he could ask.

Double Herbology was the simplest class of the lot, which was likely why his brother had talked about it so much over the summer—Harry nearly smacked himself in the forehead. He'd been preoccupied with everything else he'd completely forgotten about his promise to Neville about jogging daily with him. He resolved to pull the taller teen aside before Double Potions and talk to him. Doing so hours later, he extracted a time Saturday when they would do their run.

In the dungeons classroom, they were researching antidotes, which the class had taken seriously since Snape had strongly hinted that he might be poisoning one of them before Christmas to see if their antidote worked. Even though his brewing skills were decent, Harry saw no point in prolonging the pain of poison if his antidote failed, so he made a note to himself to remember to Owl-Order a bezoar from the Hogsmeade Apothecary. During study periods, he spent many hours in the library with Sally-Anne and Theodore. While he ignored Draco's subtle overtures to help Harry with a certain class if given enough favors, Harry also researched a reasonably challenging antidote, hoping to best Draco's choice of antidote considering how the prat gloated about his skill at Potions.

When the fourth-year Slytherins arrived in the Entrance Hall for dinner, they found themselves unable to proceed owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign that had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase.

"What's it say, Goyle?" Draco's voice ordered.

"Triwizard Tournament: The delegations from Beh-auhcks-bat-ons—"

"Beauxbatons," Draco corrected.

"And Durmstrang will be arrivin' at six o'clock on Friday the Twenty-Eighth of October," Goyle continued, "Students will assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcomin' Feast."

"Only a week away then!" Ernie Macmillan of Hufflepuff said, emerging from the crowd his eyes gleaming at the Hufflepuffs around him. "Ced'll want to know!"

"So it begins," Theodore said.

"What?" Harry asked his tall friend.

"Diggory must want to enter the tournament."

"Idiots, the lot of them. I assure you that _no_ Slytherin would be caught dead putting their name into the running," Draco said with a smugness that Harry was getting far too used to.

After the announcement had been posted, there seemed to have been a marked effect on the students of Hogwarts. No matter where Harry went, there was only one topic of conversation: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumors were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts Champion, what the tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang differed from themselves. Mostly Harry remained silent as everyone talked around him. It was too much energy to bother with when he was heavily fatigued from lack of sleep and the large amount of coursework he was doing.


	7. The Visiting School Delegations Arrive

_**Author's Notes: **Almost didn't post anything this week. Had to rework several key scenes until I was satisfied with them.  
_

* * *

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the Twenty-Eighth of October they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: a gold lion on a red banner, a bronze eagle on a blue one, a black badger on a yellow one, and a silver serpent on a green one. Behind the High Table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: Lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Mostly Harry was still trying to shake the DADA lesson on the Killing Curse from yesterday. Harry had been politely asked if he might show off his scar, something that his housemates had seen enough of after four years of classes. Harry had, of course, refused. Professor Moody explained that typically no scar appeared when the Killing Curse was cast, that the only way to tell was through magical means that would show that the person's magical vascular system had been completely burned out. Then, Professor Moody demonstrated what he meant on another spider. A small yellowish orb floated above it. After a flash of green light, it landed on its back, legs curled up in death's grip. A grey orb was summoned forth, showing that no light remained within it. Mainly, Harry was hoping they wouldn't actually be practicing it on spiders like they had with the rest.

Post arrived on the noisy wings of owls; Harry looked up from his daze surprised to see Hedwig among them. She swooped down dropping a letter into his hands, before perching on Harry's shoulder. He tore it open and read Hermione's letter. Surprised, he reread it.

"What's _she_ written to you?" Before Harry could react, Draco tore the parchment from his hands. "Oh, this is _rich_. She wants you to sponsor her organization, S.P.E.W., in the endeavor to win house-elves right to freedom and pay. Then there's equally ridiculous long-term goals of allowing them to use a wand and apply for a job within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures." He laughed.

"Spew?" Harry parroted.

"Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare," Draco said absently. "You realize this says she expects you to buy a badge to wear in support of her idiotic philosophy. At the very least it's a conflict of interest."

"Not following," Harry said, stirring his scrambled eggs with a spoon.

"You own a house-elf, Harry."

"No, I don't. Dobby's free."

"He _was_ free, but you agreed to let him serve you until you died, right?"

Harry blinked slowly at Draco. "What, that's not… I don't… Dobby wears clothes!"

"Then he's a free elf serving you without pay or benefits. You should write her back declining her well-thought out invitation." Draco dismissively tossed the letter onto the table next to Harry's plate.

Not even bothering to correct him, Harry sighed and stood up.

"Where're you going?"

"You're clever. Figure it out," he said over his shoulder. Dizzy for a moment from standing too quickly, he staggered over to the Gryffindor table. The Gryffindors mostly ignored him. Harry tried not to notice Ginny's red-orange long hair flipping as she nodded enthusiastically towards Blaise Zabini.

"Hi Harry!" Neville cried out happily.

"_Harry_? It's YOU!" Colin yelled out. Many of the other Gryffindors turned when they heard his name, including Ginny, who Harry steadfastly refused to look at.

_Oh, that's right_, Harry thought dumbly. This was one of the many reasons why he'd been avoiding the Gryffindor table. The other Slytherins kept Dennis from pestering Harry, but no one was doing the same with his older brother.

The third year was blocking his path to Hermione, who looked to be locked in heated conversation with Ron. Then Dennis appeared beside his brother, apparently having slipped away from his keepers. Harry endured through the Creeveys' combined hero worship. He allowed Dennis to hug him while Colin took a picture, and then allowed Colin to sidle up on the other side of him while Dennis clung to the other while Neville took another three pictures. When they were finished, Harry felt ridiculous.

"Are we done? I have to talk to Hermione," Harry told them.

"What about one with your brother?" Colin was gripping his camera ecstatically, while Dennis looked up at him with deep adoration and respect.

Neville gave Harry a questioning glance.

"Sure, why not? You have to promise to send us copies." Harry pulled his shoulders back in case Mrs. Longbottom saw the photograph of him slouching and tried not tense at the carelessly slung arm around his shoulder by Neville. Several flashes later, Harry lightly pushed his brother towards his seat next to Ron and told Colin that that was quite enough.

"Will you sign them later?" The first-year Slytherin said so sweetly and hopefully that Harry just nodded.

At last, he was set free. He pushed past the older Gryffindors loitering by the windows. Some of them smiled at him, obvious fans, while others did not look so friendly. "Hermione, I'd like to buy a SPEW badge."

"_It's not spew it's S. P.—_Oh, Harry! Sorry," Hermione said with a painful smile. She quickly pulled out a tin that jingled with coins. It took a moment for Harry to pull a Sickle from his pouch and place it through the slot on the top of the tin. "We're having a meeting soon; I'll send you a note as soon as I figure out when that is!"

"Thanks," he told her, sticking the badge onto the front of his robes and returning back to the Slytherin table. He saw Theodore and Sally-Anne, but as usual they didn't look like they wanted to be bothered. Disappointed, he switched directions and retook his seat with a feeling of resignation.

After Draco saw the badge on the front of Harry's robes, he said with a tight expression, "For a wizard who claims he's not interested in dating, you certainly move fast to guarantee Granger's good favor."

Harry picked up a spoon and slurped up the still-warn eggs on his plate. Had he abandoned them momentarily at a Muggle restaurant, they would've been cold and slippery by now. "She's a _friend_. I'm being supportive."

"Ah. Well. I'm encouraged to see that you've recognized the need for networking …" Draco said more pleasantly. "Though might I suggest that you charm someone with more political edge than a Muggle-born who few like. Someone like Cedric Diggory."

"I'm just helping a friend," Harry insisted.

There was a long-suffering sigh. "House-elves, which I'm sure you know, _like_ being enslaved. Their unpaid love of labor goes back _ages_."

"There's no conflict of interest, Draco. Dobby gets paid a Sickle for every day he works at Longbottom Manor."

"…You're not having me on, are you?"

"He hasn't got any benefits yet." Harry grinned when Crabbe and Goyle shot him a perplexed look. "Do you know of any insurance companies that cover house-elves?"

"There are places, which for a tidy sum every month, will insure your house-elf. Should anything accidentally go awry you will be paid a lump sum. However, since house-elves aren't considered to be self-determinant, there exists no law which would hold a contractual agreement such as you desire as viably legitimate." Draco pinched the bridge of his nose as if Harry had given him another broken nose like he had their first year. "I can't believe I'm holding this conversation."

Harry laughed.

Later, he enjoyed the following Herbology class, opting to stand with Padma Patil and her friend, Laura Limony. There was something immensely satisfying about a well-transplanted Katzedill's purr, especially considering how sadly Limony's calico-colored, fur-like leafy stalk chirruped in shock. Harry thought she might not have gotten her fertilizer mixed precisely.

"You're very good with plants," Padma said as her plant mewled pitifully from its new spot. Harry thought she had been a little too forceful when she yanked it out of the pot.

Harry drew another finger down his Katzedill's stem, and its purring grew louder. "I maintained the garden outside my childhood home. It was one of the few pleasures I had there." He didn't miss how the grinning witches were watching the rise and fall of his finger. He paused and frowned at them. "What is it?"

They looked furtively towards the other students who were struggling to get their Kaztedill planted. Yowling and hissing filled the air. Patil leaned forward, her oval, soft face smiling. "Are you gay?"

"What?" Harry blinked thinking he heard her wrong. "Sorry I thought I heard you say…"

She and her friend burst into giggles.

He hissed, "_I'm_ _not gay_. Alright?"

"Of course not," Limony stated and then bloody winked, which sent Patil giggling again.

Professor Sprout interrupted whatever Harry was about to say with, "_Very good_, Mr. Potter. Top marks on your transplanting. You need only read the assignment; I won't require an essay from you this week."

"Thank you, professor." Grabbing his bag, he left the two witches to the Herbologist's sharp critique. He might not find the friends he wanted among the Ravenclaws if that interaction was anything to go by. Merlin's beard, they thought he was gay! They were supposed to be a house of bright wizards and witches. How stupid could you be to think that the Boy Who Lived was _gay_?

Down in the Potions lab, there was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that Harry was not privy to. While Harry attempted several concoctions of the antidote he'd researched, ruddy Snape seemed far more interested in his potion than the others brewing around him. The Antidote to Billywig Stings wasn't rocket science, but the Potion Master's attention might have been due to the fact that the antidote was standard fare on the O.W.L. Potions exam. In picking the antidote, Harry had not meant to try to impress the professor; he'd only thought about besting Draco.

The quiet conversations—by Slytherins, since any Gryffindor caught talking had house points deducted—were about the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. The arrival which had completely slipped Harry's mind.

When the bell rang for half past five, Harry hurried down the corridor with the other Slytherins. After depositing his bag in the dormitory, he rushed down to the common room where they were being lined up by year by the prefects, who were nitpicking every little detail. He hurriedly cast a Refreshening Charm to remove the odor of the Potions lab from his skin and robes.

"Potter, your hair is terrible," Head Boy Wynch said, "Comb it down!"

"I already did, sir." The other fourth years snickered around Harry, and he shot them an annoyed grimace.

"Wynch, don't bother," Snape said, drawing each word out when the seventh year was about to cast a spell on Harry's messy mop. "Potter's hair is naturally unkempt; it might even qualify as a bloodline effect."

The Head Boy didn't seem thrilled about that, but obediently turned his wand to the next Slytherin, an unfortunate Pike Lestrange, who smelled as if he had only just left a Herbology lesson on fertilizer.

While the prefects moved among the last few scruffy students casting this and that spell to set them to rights, Professor Snape took the steps up to the portrait-hole and stood with his hands held behind his back. He cleared his throat and instantly had their quiet attention. "You are the proud Slytherin representatives of Hogwarts. _Do not_ bring dishonor to your House and family name by being insufferable twits. Heed your actions and mind your words. You don't want to accidentally start a national war because you seriously offended an Important Person's child, be they child of a King or Minister."

Harry snickered softly, remembering the history lesson where that had actually happened eight centuries ago, and the Slytherin Head of House's gaze immediately fixated on him. Harry dropped his eyes with another grimace. "Sorry, sir."

"Prefects, make sure no one puts a toe out of line. First and second years pair up and walk together. Everyone else; file behind," Snape growled.

Prefect Renshaw flapped his hands at the first and second years who'd been frozen in place staring frightfully at Snape. Only Dennis had followed directions without any issue. "Partner up and get a move on! Stay in line! Honestly, it's not that difficult!"

Soon they were filing down the dungeon's main corridor to the stairs that would carry them up to the Entrance Hall. Other Houses were filing in an orderly fashion out the door, though not as rigidly. Standing beside Slytherin's portrait, Snape observed them all as they left the Hogwarts Castle. The prefects lined the Slytherins in the far right corner of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale gibbous moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Theodore would be leaving tonight for another bout of 'projects' for his apprenticeship. On the right side of Harry was the grassy lawn of Hogwarts. He was standing in the fourth row; in front of him was third-year Van Vaisey, and behind was Ortanto Urquhart. The scenery might have been even more beautiful had it not been disturbed by the chattering of several hundred students.

"How d'you think they're coming?" Goyle asked curiously.

"By train?" Draco said. The exact method of transport had been made strictly confidential for the protection of the international students.

"Could be by broomstick," Harry suggested, enjoying that he could watch the stars peek out from the darkening sky.

Theodore snickered beside him. "You and _brooms_. Those schools are too far away. It'd make sense if they were Apparating in brief spurts, but we all know that they would be lined up by the gate if that were the case."

They scanned the darkening grounds, but nothing was moving, besides the students and the glinting waters of Black Lake. Harry saw his breath misting in front of him as cold creeped in. At least, it only had a passing resemblance to the dementors.

"You see that?" Theodore murmured. Harry squinted in the dim light, unable to pinpoint what Theodore was talking about.

"See what?" Draco asked.

And then Professor Dumbledore called out from the back where he stood with the other teachers on the steps to enter Hogwarts—"Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!"

"Where?" Harry heard from many students as they looked around excitedly in different directions.

"_There_!" yelled Prefect Sykes, a sixth-year like Renshaw, and pointed over the Forbidden Forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick—or, indeed a hundred broomsticks—was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

"It's a dragon!" shrieked one of the first years much farther down the line. Harry wasn't sure which House she was from.

"Don't be stupid… it's a flying house!" Dennis Creevey's unmistakable voice shouted out over the panicked voices of the other first years.

Harry thought Dennis' guess was much closer as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. The lights shining from the castle windows hit it, and they all saw a powder-blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a small house, soaring toward them. It was pulled through the air by seven winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant with glowing fiery orange eyes.

"Cinderella's pumpkin carriage more like," Sally-Anne said through a huff.

"Cinderella-who?" Draco asked.

"Protagonist of a Muggle fairy tale," Bulstrode answered gruffly for Sally-Anne.

Hagrid stood across the sloping lawn far away from the groups of students, waving two great glowing fans in a calm repetitive manner. As the winged horses drew closer, Hagrid bellowed, "Clear th' runway!" Probably to warn anyone who might've been stupid enough to wander into the darkness behind him. Lights magically came to life straight behind Hagrid, illuminating the dewy grass. He dove for the ground as the carriage swooped in for a landing behind the horses. With an almighty crash, the horses' hooves, large as dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its huge wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled their glowing eyes at the hundreds of Hogwarts students watching.

The door of the carriage bore a coat of arms, with two crossed, golden wands each emitting three stars.

"Let's give them a good cheer!" The headmaster said clapping. Everyone joined in, cheering, though no one departed from the carriage. "And now the delegation from Durmstrang!" Dumbledore shouted. Many students looked up to the sky expectantly, but Harry heard a loud and oddly eerie noise drifting toward them from the darkness. A muffled sort of rumbling and sucking sound.

"The lake!" yelled a familiar voice Harry didn't quite place, though he knew he ought to. "Look at the lake!"

From the nearly full moon, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of water—except the surface did not seem very smooth anymore. There looked to be a very small boat sailing at a great speed down the center of it.

"That can't be it…" Harry murmured. And then the small 'ship' rose into the air revealing extensive masts and rigging beneath it. "It's a mast!" He said excitedly to Theodore whose eyes glowed in the moonlight as he bared his teeth into a grin.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water until its bow gracefully cut through the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. With a loud creaking noise, it bobbed on the turbulent water and glided towards the bank, its great sails unfurling. On the white background was a great red, two-headed eagle, resting on a bough. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows.

"Another good cheer from Hogwarts for the Durmstrang delegation!" Professor Dumbledore said, and the Slytherins, who had been largely quiet at the sight of the blue carriage, gave an immense roaring cheer towards the boat. Harry very nearly fell over from the unexpected noise.

"While they are getting ready to present themselves, let us kindly wait for our guests in the Great Hall," the headmaster said, and the students followed him inside.

The Great Hall had two more tables now, one extra each for the Eagles and the Vipers; they were likely to accommodate their guests. They sat down and chattering erupted. The Slytherins had remained separated by gender; it was the first time that term that Harry had not seen his friends eating with one another.

"Now that we are all settled in, I would like to say a few words. This castle has been your home for the year or years you have stayed at Hogwarts; it will now be hosting delegations of these very special guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang. …"

Coming through the door, Argus Filch panted and clutched his chest as he ran down the middle walkway. Once he reached the headmaster he muttered something to Dumbledore and the headmaster nodded. Argus Filch went running back towards the double doors as the headmaster continued, "Everyone please join me in welcoming the lovely lads and ladies of the Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, and their headmistress, Madam Maxine."

The doors to the Great Hall opened, revealing at least a dozen wizards and witches, all in their late teens. Their powder-blue robes appeared to be made of fine silk, much more form-fitting than the black robes of Hogwarts, and none of them were wearing cloaks despite the chilly weather. Every single one of them had dainty hats on; the witches' hats were thin-brimmed with cutely pointed ends set at an angle, while the wizards' hats were stately, broad-brimmed caps reminiscent of Robin Hood with a single blue feather poking out from the side. The witches curtsied with a gentle sigh, conjuring shimmery blue butterflies from their fingertips, while the wizards quietly flourished bows as they blew kisses towards them that conjured tiny blue hummingbirds.

They ran forward to the front of the Great Hall conjuring birds and butterflies in a synchronized fashion. Reaching the end, they separated to stand at opposite sides of the podium.

Behind them, Madam Maxine was an unnaturally tall woman. Harry had only seen one person close in height to her—Hagrid—and she would have towered even over him if he'd been standing near her. She had a handsome, olive-skinned face with large, black eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her reddish-brown hair was carefully coiffed. She was dressed from head to foot in coppery black satin and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. Her face was relaxed into a gracious smile as she walked forward after her students.

After two teenagers performed an amazing set of gymnastics in red-trimmed white leotards and bowed, Harry stood up clapping. Draco quickly followed Harry's lead nudging Crabbe and Goyle to stand and clap with him. Not to be outdone, Dennis clapped _and_ cheered, either ignoring or oblivious to the glares Draco was sending in his direction. The others, not only the Slytherins but the whole hall, joined in.

They watched Madam Maxine extend a glittering hand towards Dumbledore, who though tall himself, barely bent to kiss her knuckles. Then the Beauxbatons delegation walked over to the empty space at the very end of the Ravenclaw tables and remained standing until their Headmistress had taken a spot at the High Table with the rest of the staff.

Professor Dumbledore hopped up the stone steps, raising his hands for silence. "And now our friends from the north… Please greet the proud sons and daughters of Durmstrang and their high master, Igor Karkaroff."

Everyone swiveled their heads to the double doors as they opened ominously. Thick, wooden staffs, topped with carved eagle-heads, pounded against the ground in a choreographed manner. The teenagers were not separated by gender, and they were all built like Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode. Each time the staffs hit the ground, sparks ignited. Together the Durmstrang students swung the staffs around menacingly, their military-style crimson robes, Spartan and close-fitting on their thick frames. The first two students in the line left their staffs on the floor and did one-handed cartwheels to the front, performing something similar to breakdancing in Harry's opinion while the others lined up around them showing their mastery of the staff. Finally, a single, large-framed male teenager stalked in sans staff, wearing a heavy overcoat and a furry hat.

"Blimey, it's him. That's Viktor Krum!" Ron's voice whimpered out into the stunned silence of the Great Hall.

"It's Krum!" Others whispered excitedly, watching the Bulgarian Seeker slouch his way speedily to the front.

Tall and thin like Professor Dumbledore and resplendent in gray and silver furs, High Master Karkaroff carried a staff horizontally over the ground. Beneath his white furry hat, he had gray-white hair and a long goatee that ended in a small curl. He stalked quickly behind the Bulgarian Seeker. Before either he or Krum had reached the front of the Great Hall where the others were, the male and female breakdancers, who were still crouched, blew on the tip of their wands conjuring flame serpents that twisted and roared intimidatingly at the Hogwarts students. The two flame serpents joined as one into the symbol of the two-headed red eagle and then vanished right in front of Dumbledore.

"Albus!" Karkaroff called heartily as he approached the headmaster and gave him a large hug, which Professor Dumbledore returned with a quiet, "Igor." The high master chuckled warmly. "How are you, my dear fellow?"

"Blooming, thank you," Professor Dumbledore replied easily.

Then the high master took a seat at one of two empty chairs at the staff table next to Professor Snape. Meanwhile, Viktor Krum and the other Durmstrang students settled in at the Slytherin table. Wordlessly at Krum's silent pointing, the other Durmstrang students immediately looked up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them picked up the golden plates and goblets, looking impressed. Harry noticed that the large Durmstrang witches had opted to sit with the Slytherin witches.

Professor Dumbledore raised his hands once more. "Good evening, ladies and gentleman," he said beaming around at the foreign students. "I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable. The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast. I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!"

Harry watched the headmaster sit down. Professor Moody looked as if he was standing guard in the far back right corner of the Great Hall behind the staff table. Karkaroff leaned forward to engage a tight-lipped Snape in conversation. The other Hogwarts staff were seated where they normally preferred.

Then the plates in front of students filled with food. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Harry had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

"…And this is Harry Potter. We watched your stellar performance at the Quidditch World Cup," Draco's voice drawled next to Harry.

He looked across the table. "Sorry, what?"

Viktor Krum grinned at him. "Hyu are ffunny man," he said with a thick accent, chuckling approvingly.

"Er, hi," Harry said awkwardly, "I've read your book."

"Oh?" Krum sounded interested. "Vhat hyu think?"

"Many of the techniques would work well with the Slytherin Quidditch Team's tactics," Harry summarized.

"Hyu are Seeker, yes?"

"When he's not recovering from an attempt on his life," Theodore said lightheartedly, clapping Krum on the shoulder. The Bulgarian Seeker did not seem bothered by the easy contact.

"Theo, dementors would like to suck the souls out of all of us, given half the chance. I happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time," Harry said. When Krum seemed to reassess him with admiration, Harry's face flamed. He did not nearly have enough skill in anything to warrant that look.

"Hyu are brave und humble about dementor attack," Krum said simply. He picked up the tankard and raised it. "Toast to success ov Harry Potter und to Slytherins ov Hogwarts!"

The twelve Durmstrang students lifted their tankards and let out three guttural cries, the Slytherins joining in on the second one.

Face burning, Harry wanted to go crawl into a hole somewhere until the Triwizard Tournament was over. He glanced up at the staff table and saw Snape _smirking_ at him, while High Master Karkaroff smiled with his yellow teeth when he saw Harry looking at them. Harry covered his face and dug his fingers into his unruly hair, mortified.

"Hyur friend, he ffeels unvell?" Krum asked Theodore.

"Oh, yes. He suffers from bouts of embarrassment here and there," the werewolf responded glibly.

Krum slapped the table and howled with laughter. "Good man, very ffunny," he told Harry, pointing a thumb at Theodore.

The werewolf grinned broadly.

"Do you need someone to feed you, Harry?" Draco said wickedly next to him.

"I hate you all," he grumbled behind his hands.

At that moment, an accented voice behind him said, "Excuse me, are 'oo wanting ze bouillabaisse?"

Harry turned in his seat and saw that it was a young lady from Beauxbatons. A long sheet of silvery-blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes and very white, even teeth, the latter trait reminding him immediately of Lockhart. Her general appearance was of a creamy-pale bean-stalk wearing silk blue robes. Even with the filmy nature of silk, Harry didn't feel his eyes automatically travel over her. "The what?" He said tiredly.

Next to him, Crabbe's face had turned an interesting shade of plum as he stared up at Beauxbatons witch, his mouth gaping open. Nothing came out but a faint, gurgling noise.

"Ze bouillabaisse," she said pointing to the untouched dish of what looked to be shellfish stew.

The easy chatting around Harry had stopped, and he noticed the other male students all along the table were staring. Theodore's mouth was parted and his nostrils were flaring in an unusual manner. Most of the female students were either rolling their eyes or shaking their heads, whispering amongst themselves. Harry looked back to the patient Beauxbatons witch.

"Don't just stare at her, Harry. Give her the bouillabaisse," Draco said prodding his shoulder.

"Right," Harry said, lifting the dish and handing it to her. With a smile and a quiet thank-you, she carried it carefully off to the Ravenclaw table. Crabbe was still goggling at her as if he'd never seen a girl before.

"What's the matter with everyone?" Harry asked Draco since he was the only wizard who seemed completely unaffected.

"She's part-veela," he responded promptly.

"They don' make 'em like that at Hogwarts," Crabbe said hoarsely as if his brain had just re-engaged.

"They make them okay here," Harry said without thinking.

Draco nearly snorted his drink everywhere. He cleared his throat. "When you've finished gaping like uncivilized twits, you'll notice that some Ministry officials have brought the Goblet's container in," he said, nodding towards the front.

It looked like a reliquary Harry had once seen in a Catholic church and it stood heads taller than Professor Dumbledore.

Mr. Crouch, the man who had accused Harry of summoning the Dark Mark at the Quidditch World Cup, was now sitting on the other side of Professor Karkaroff.

When the second course of food arrived, Harry ate a large plate of treacle pudding, ignoring the unfamiliar desserts. Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Professor Dumbledore stood up. Harry felt the first thrill of excitement at the start of a ceremony which hadn't been seen in a century. He just as quickly smothered it.

"Your attention, please!" Their headmaster stood next to the tall object, placing a hand on it. "I'd like to say a few words…" He paused for a moment. "Eternal glory. That is what awaits the student who wins the Triwizard Tournament. But to do this that student must survive three tasks, alone. Three _extremely dangerous_ tasks."

Harry took a deep breath, imagining that he would merely be a spectator as terrible things happened to _other_ people. It didn't make the likelihood of that being a vain hope any better.

"For this reason, the Ministry has seen fit to impose a new rule. To explain all this, we have the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, Mr. Bartemius Crouch." The headmaster gestured to Mr. Crouch who stood up and moved around the High Table towards the reliquary.

Mr. Crouch had a slight twitch to his eyes as he opened his arms invitingly, "After due consideration, the Ministry has concluded that for their own safety no student under the age of seventeen—"

"No way!" A Hogwarts student cried out sounding terribly disappointed.

"—shall be allowed put forth their name for the—"

"That's not fair!" Someone else cried as Hogwarts students booed lowly.

"—Triwizard Tournament. This decision is _final_."

"That's rubbish!" Harry saw that it was the Weasley twins raising all the fuss. "That's rubbish! You don't know what you're doing!"

Poor Mr. Crouch looked disappointed with the Hogwarts students as the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang looked towards the Gryffindor table with frowns of consternation.

"SILENCE!" Professor Dumbledore roared. Immediately the Hogwarts students looked uneasily to one another. No one had ever seen the headmaster angry before. At least the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables had kept their wits about them.

The headmaster raised his wand pointing at the very top of the tall, golden object and as he drew his wand down the walls of the container melted fading away upon each level. Inside was a massive, roughly hewn goblet that looked entirely unremarkable. A great blue fire erupted for several feet above it and the headmaster turned towards it respectfully.

"The Goblet of Fire," he announced. "Now, to enforce the Ministry's ruling… I will draw an Age Line to prevent any Underage wizard or witch from entering the space around it. Anyone of age wishing to submit themselves to the tournament need only write their name on a piece of parchment and throw it into the flame before this hour, three days from now, on All Hallow's Eve. The goblet will remain here, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete._ Do not do so lightly_," He warned. "If chosen as a champion, there is no turning back, no leeway for a change of heart, so be very sure that you are wholeheartedly prepared before you drop your name into the fire. As from this moment, the Triwizard Tournament has begun." He smiled in a grandfatherly manner. "Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight and pleasant dreams." The headmaster went to chat with Barty Crouch.

The Beauxbatons students immediately stood up and followed their headmistress out of the Great Hall. Only a few Hogwarts students began to leave after being dismissed.

"Age Line?" Harry echoed curiously.

"Old magic," Draco answered without complaint, "Invented to prevent needless death of boys in the wars of men."

"Back to the ship, then," a deep voice rumbled behind Harry. "Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?"

Krum shook his head at High Master Karkaroff as he pulled his furs back on. He was the only one from Durmstrang besides the Durmstrang high master who had worn them into the Great Hall. Harry wondered if he was feeling unwell.

"Proffessor, _I_ vood like some vine," one of the other Durmstrang boys said hopefully.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Poliakoff," the adult snapped, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. "I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy—" Theodore quickly cast a cleaning spell on Poliakoff who looked immensely grateful and murmured something guttural. The Durmstrang high master paused in his turn when his eyes fixed on the scar on Harry's forehead. He probably couldn't see it from the distance of the staff table.

"Yeah, that's Harry Potter," a growling voice said beside Harry. It was Professor Moody, leaning heavily on his staff, his Magical eye glaring unblinkingly at Professor Karkaroff.

The color drained from the high master's face and a terrible look of mingled fear and fury came over him. "You!" he said, staring at the DADA professor as though unsure he was really seeing him.

"Me," Professor Moody said grimly. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, you'll want to head back to your ship."

Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Professor Moody watched the wizard until he was out of sight, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face.

It made Harry wonder what sort of history there was between the two of them. Snape had been quite friendly with Karkaroff. Well, as friendly as the greasy-haired bastard got. If Durmstrang was known for its teaching of Dark Arts, then it would make sense if the high master was a powerful Dark wizard himself and explained why Professor Moody hated Karkaroff.

Harry thought it would be a bit premature to follow the adage that 'The enemy of my enemy is my friend' where Karkaroff was concerned. For all the Slytherin knew, the wizard could be a Death Eater.

As the next day was Saturday, most students would be up late to eat. Harry was the exception, since he was always up far before the sun rose. When he cleaned himself up after the morning jog with Neville, he went to the Great Hall with Sally-Anne who'd been waiting in the common room. Theodore had been spirited away in the middle of the night.

In the Great Hall, he saw the usual decorations of live bats and carved pumpkins this close to Halloween and also twenty people milling around the Goblet of Fire, which now had a thick, translucent line hovering a foot off the ground around it. The goblet was still in front of the headmaster's chair at the front of the Great Hall.

"Anyone put their name in yet?" Sally-Anne asked the nearest person to her.

"All the Durmstrang students," Luna Lovegood replied airily, twirling her blonde hair between her long, dainty fingers. "But I haven't seen anyone from Hogwarts yet. They're shy, I think, sneaking in like the Nargles do at night…"

Sally-Anne nodded. "I wouldn't have wanted everyone watching if it were me."

Several students were clapping while the two sat down at the Slytherin table to eat. Harry looked up to see that a Gryffindor had just put his name in the Goblet of Fire. He supposed that the more outgoing types would make a show of submitting their names.

"C'mon, Cedric!" A male teenager said boisterously on one side of the Hufflepuff.

"Put it in!" Another on the other side of Diggory encouraged as they both shoved him off towards the Age Line.

Passing through the filmy line of magic, Cedric reached up and flicked his paper into it. He rejoined his friends who cheered and clapped for him.

Harry watched between mouthfuls of toast and sausage.

"Look at them," Sally-Anne said between bites. "They don't even look like they know how serious entering the Triwizard Tournament is. Blithe idiots…" She huffed. "Theo really wanted to put his name in, which is probably why Mr. Nott took him away early. Age Lines aren't impossible to circumvent, you know." When Harry frowned, she waved a hand dismissively. "Not saying he wouldn't do well as a champion. It would have been awfully inconvenient if one of the Tasks happened on a certain night, and when it comes to events like these..." Sally-Anne's brown eyes took on a vacant quality as if she were seeing something else. She shook her head as if to banish a thought. Then her eyes met his. "Harry, there's something I've been meaning to—"

A roar of glee came from the double doors and two identical redheads came tearing down the center of the tables, high-fiving one another and thanking their adoring fans. In their hands, they were showing off identical vials of some unknown potion. "Well, lads, we've done it!"

"Just cooked it up this morning," the other announced proudly.

"It's not going to wo-ork," Hermione said in a sing-song voice, a book open on the Gryffindor table in front of her.

Downing another plateful of eggs, Sally-Anne's words were forgotten as Harry watched the Weasley twins immediately sidle up on either side of Hermione. She looked completely unintimidated by their close proximity.

"Oh, yeah?"

"And why is that, Granger?"

Hermione pointed smugly at the Age Line and gestured in a circular motion. "You see this? It's an Age Line. Dumbledore drew it himself."

"So…?"

She scoffed at the twin who'd spoken. "_So_," she said forcefully, "A genius like Dumbledore couldn't possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dim-witted as an _Aging Potion_."

"Hah! But that's why it's so brilliant!"

"Because it's so pathetically _dim-witted_."

Hermione rolled her eyes and shook her head with an exasperated sigh.

Harry watched the two Weasleys vigorously shake the test tubes in their hands.

"Ready, Fred?"

"Ready, George."

"Bottom's up!" They said together tossing the contents back.

Fascinated by their sheer nerve, Harry saw them each pull out a slip of parchment from their pockets. Then they simply hopped into the circle together.

For a split second, Harry thought it had worked—George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph upon landing, and Fred joined him in cheering for their success—and they dropped the bit of parchment into the Goblet of Fire.

Unfortunately, blue fire sprung out of it in forked tongues, startling the crowd around them and then the two redheads were hurtled out of the circle of light as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. The Weasley twins landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor.

Sally-Anne made a sympathetic noise beside Harry. "What were you going to say?" He asked, half-distracted by the sight of identical, long white beards that the twins had sprouted from their chins. Slips of smoking parchment floated out of the Goblet of fire and landed on top of them, while the Great Hall rang with laughter.

"You said!"

"_You_ said!"

The two boys grappled with one another on the floor, tussling in a comical manner.

Skipping over Sally-Anne's silence, Harry chortled and took a large swig of pumpkin juice. The crowd of spectators suddenly began to chant, "Fight, Fight, Fight!" as the Weasley twins tussled like two playful dogs.

"Oh, right, you want a piece of me!"

"I'll tear your ears off!"

"Oh, now, you're making me laugh! _My ears, _George? Really!?"

"Take this!" George giggled maniacally. "Come on, Fred! We're _old_ school, get it?"

"I _really _can't take this fight seriously when you're _pun_ny. Get it?_ Pun_-ny?!"

"I did warn you," a deeply amused voice said, and the hall fell silent. Every student's head turned to see Professor Dumbledore stroll into the Great Hall. He surveyed Fred and George, eyes twinkling. "I suggest you both go see Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett of Ravenclaw and Mr. Summers of Hufflepuff, both of whom decided to age themselves a little too. Though I must say," and Professor Dumbledore stroked his long beard, "Neither of their beards look anything as fine as yours."

Fred and George got to their feet, bowing to the headmaster. "Of course, yours is the finest beard of them all, headmaster!"

The elderly wizard beamed, and the Weasley twins, accompanied with another Gryffindor, set off for the hospital wing, all of them howling with laughter. Professor Dumbledore took a seat at the staff table and began his breakfast. Ever watchful, Professor Moody remained leaning against the corner, now and then taking deep drinks of his flask.

Eyes flicking back to the Goblet of Fire, Harry was just in time to see Cassius Warrington, one of the Slytherin Chasers, put his name in. Harry clapped when no one else did, and the thickset Warrington sent him a smile.

Angelina Johnson, a Gryffindor Chaser, also hopped up to it and added her name to a roar of congratulatory applause. She smiled happily and rejoined her friends again.

A hush fell among the Great Hall, when the students from Beauxbatons entered the Great Hall and headed straight for the Goblet of Fire. Madam Maxine stood behind them, observing. One by one, each of them stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue fire. When the twelve students had finished, Madam Maxine led them to the Ravenclaw table. She continued on to the staff table and took a seat. Once she had, the rest of the Beauxbatons students sat as well. Harry was unpleasantly reminded of his lessons in manners with Mrs. Longbottom.

As soon as Harry finished breakfast, he hurried back to the dormitories to work on his assignments. Maybe he would get a little bit farther in the book about puberty as well before the rest of his roommates woke up.

The weekend dragged on. Most spent their time watching others drop slips of parchment into the Goblet of Fire. Bored by that, Harry opted to go to the library to discover how someone could possibly be divining present moments in their sleep. He strongly suspected that it had to do with his survival of the Killing Curse. So far he learned from the books that it was called magical entanglement. These entanglements were deliberate, like the Unbreakable Vow, but Harry wanted to know if others had ever gotten entangled magically with another person due to improper spellcasting or some other freak occurrence.

His search only came up with a few hits, considering that he could not look in the Restricted Section. One had to be naturally vulnerable like young children or open to another's magic either willingly or through magical means in order for something like Harry's experience to occur. Usually, the unfortunate victim would be reduced to mad gibbering, or left to compulsively repeat every word of the connected person even outside of hearing, or effectively be like a house-elf catering to the assailant's every whim.

Harry shivered. He counted himself very lucky that he only had effects in certain instances—such as uncontrollably using Dark magic when he was angry, the emotional state Voldemort must've been in when he attempted to kill Harry. Also, Harry would involuntarily become accosted by visions while asleep, the time which Harry must be most vulnerable. Now he wanted to know if there was a way to protect himself as he slept. Tired from the influx of information, he laid his head down for a moment to think…

"Harry?"

Starting from a dreamless nap, he wiped the cold drool from his face, adjusted his glasses, and looked up at Sally-Anne's worried face. He shut the book, which he thought might help him, but had found nothing of use in it. He'd have to go ask Salazar Slytherin for assistance. Better yet, he'd try to glean from the Founder exactly how he'd come to this state of entanglement with Voldemort instead of dying properly. He had to wonder how the evil wizard had made such a colossal mistake. "Yes?"

She shifted. "The prefects were looking for you. Apparently, you've detention with Snape, Wednesday night, seven-thirty."

He rubbed his eyes free of grit so he could better focus on the large clock hanging on the pillar and not on her. The time was far past lunch. "Bollocks," Harry groused.

"What've you been studying all this time? Transfigurations?" She walked on the other side of him and read the title, which had nothing to do with the assumed subject. "Not sleeping well?"

Harry shrugged. "I do alright most nights."

The witch dug into her robes and pulled out a vial of clear fluid. "It's a simple Sleeping Draught. Nothing as strong as Dreamless Sleep, but it helps me… when I worry too much." She set it on the table next to him.

"…About Theo?" Harry picked up the vial, noticing on closer inspection that the fluid within seemed a bit gelatinous.

"Yes." Sally-Anne took a small breath, appearing to check whatever she had been about to say. "….You can have that if you want."

"Thanks." He pocketed it without deciding whether he would use it or not. "Why aren't you two dating yet?"

"Um." Her pale, freckled cheeks blushed. "Because he said no."

Harry blinked at her. "You asked him out?"

"Of course, I did," she snapped. "Did you think I was going to wait and see if he'd notice me?"

"Oh…" He thought that was strange that Theodore would turn her down when the werewolf looked like he very much enjoyed her company.

"You're wondering why he would turn me down."

"A bit, yeah."

"He said he wants me to date others first in case I'm happier with them—which is _silly_. I've dated here and there before him, but I guess he never noticed. And the couple of dates this year… No one holds my attention, not like he does." She tilted her head back a little as she squinted up at the tall stacks with a long sigh. His eyes automatically looked up at what she was looking at, but Harry didn't see anything strange.

With a small shake of her head, Sally-Anne pulled out a chair next to him and sat down, her brown eyes dark with secrets. "I've been meaning to catch you by yourself since Friday to tell you, Harry…"

She sounded as if she might have the world on her shoulders. "What've you been trying to tell me?"

"Whatever happens during the Naming Ceremony…" She looked down at the legs of the solid wooden chair. Harry followed her gaze a bit confused.

Sally-Anne took a deep breath and let it out. "Know that you'll be alright, Harry."

Harry felt his lips curl and then he chuckled. "That certainly doesn't sound ominous at all."

"I know. I'm sorry I haven't any better news than that."

"You dreamt something bad will happen tomorrow night…?"

"Nothing _bad_ is going to happen. Nobody dies for one." Sally-Anne turned away, her shoulders tense. "It's just… I didn't want you going into that blind."

"I'd rather a clearer warning than that vague monstrosity."

She held her breath a touch, peering at him furtively over her hunched shoulder. Her lips thinned as if she was debating whether to tell him or not. "…I saw your name come out of the Goblet of Fire."

_'If chosen as a champion, there is no turning back, no leeway for a change of heart…'_ The unpleasant feeling of future detention was swept away by the floor seeming to open up beneath him. Harry stood up, the chair screeching in complaint. Madam Pince's loud shush echoed through the mostly empty library. Vertigo threatened to throw him to the floor. "It's got to be a mistake. This isn't a horrid joke, is it?"

Her shoulder-length hair swayed as she shook it with a pensive, drawn face. "I'm sorry, Harry. I really wish it was only a bad dream."

"I'm too young."

"I know."

He bit back the hysterical laughter clawing up his throat. None of the people in charge could protect him properly at Hogwarts, could they? "Did you also happen to see who put it in?"

"No. It doesn't work like that. I'm lucky that I even saw that much."

"_Great_." Harry angrily shoved the book aside, snatching up his notes and thrusting them into his bag. A thought wound through his mind. _Maybe it wouldn't happen… maybe her dreams didn't always come true…?_ He took another breath, hope blooming. Calm seeped into him. "What are the chances of the dream _not _happening?"

A look of sadness—no, it was much worse—_despair_ came over her face. "I'm sorry, Harry."

The nausea coming back full force, Harry threw his satchel over his shoulder. "Never been wrong then." She stood up, looking very uncertain. "I'm not mad at you. In fact, I want to thank you for telling me."

Brown eyes looked so hopeful and so wet. She wiped at them. "I couldn't _not_ tell you."

"…You were sure I was going to be alright though."

"You'll make it through the trials of fire, water, and wood." Sally-Anne flexed her fingers ineffectually next to her sides. "All the champions will."

"At least that's something," Harry agreed. They both startled when someone whispered 'Hey!' towards them. It looked to be a large stack of books with fingers at the bottom and bushy hair sticking out the sides. Harry relaxed. "Hullo, Hermione. You gave us a bit of a scare."

As they watched, books obediently floated to their right spot on the shelf as soon as the Gryffindor released them. Harry wondered if they all had a charm on them to make re-shelving easier on Madam Pince.

Hermione leaned out from behind her stack, grinning. Her front teeth seemed a bit smaller than Harry remembered. "I've volunteered to help Madam Pince out. Do either of you need help with anything?"

"Er, no."

Sally-Anne shook her head, her solemn look not quite disappearing. "We've got it covered, Hermione. Thanks for the offer."

"Alright then," she sounded disappointed but moved past them as she put books away.

Harry left the library deep in thought, Sally-Anne walking with him by his side. It was only when she called out to him that Harry realized he'd turned down the corridor which led to Slytherin's Personal Study. He almost lied to her, but chose not to since she'd been brave enough to tell him what she foresaw. "I'm meeting with Salazar Slytherin in his personal study."

"Can I come?" She had an intense curious look upon her features, but considering the questions that Harry wanted to ask the painting he couldn't let her. Before he could deny her, Sally-Anne nodded cheerfully. "Perhaps later."

"Yeah."

"Don't forget dinner."

"I won't," he promised.

Not looking bothered by being refused, Sally-Anne lightly turned on her foot and calmly walked down the corridor towards the conventional entrance into the Slytherin House. Before long, Harry was at the dead-end of a long corridor. Any other time he wouldn't have brushed her off, but today he was going to ask highly dubious questions of the painting. He murmured the needed phrase to the wall and then he went across the stone floor, skirting around the magnificent rug of the basilisk, to stand before Salazar Slytherin's painting. "Mr. Slytherin. Wess haal."

"And hello to you, young Potter." Long-nailed fingers steepled in front of him. "I sense urgency from you today."

"I need to know… _why_ I'm magically entangled with Lord Vole. And don't tell me we aren't. My scar resonates with him! Bleeding when he's near and giving me visions whenever he uses an Unforgivable in my sleep."

Stern, forest green eyes looked at him. "Why…? Because he is a learned fool. He assumed that the Killing Curse killed effectively without any side effects to the caster. In his arrogance, he failed to recognize that the Dark Arts he so steeped himself in charged his wand and his already damaged soul for precisely the sort of result you are."

"And _what_ result am I?"

The Founder closed his eyes and stroked his beard, a scowl deepening on his face. "Last year, you said a sixteen-year-old Lord Vole of Death appeared before you in your second year at Hogwarts… that this person was commanding Jinara."

"Yes, but he was destroyed when the journal was sliced through with a Basilisk fang."

"…Hm." The bald-headed wizard nodded. "And did this apparition of Tom Riddle seem abnormally fixated on you as if he'd met a long-lost friend?"

Remembering the strange sense he had of the journal, Harry narrowed his eyes at the painting. That's when it hit him like a bolt of lightning. '_You and I share pieces of the same soul, Boy.' _Voldemort hadn't been lying then, had he? Harry wasn't a freak occurrence who'd survived the Killing Curse. He was a freak of nature created with a bit of someone's Dark soul occasionally taking over his body to perform magic he didn't know. "I'm like that journal…? I've… I've got a…"

"You don't need me to confirm what you already know," came the grave response.

Little wonder that the Healers couldn't recognize the 'foreign object' when they found it. How often had they had a chance to see a soul-shard get lodged into a person's MVS? A flash of a purple jagged scar glowing on a black leather journal sprang to Harry's mind; he remembered how Draco had cast a series of Reveal-spells on it, trying to learn its secrets. For a moment, Harry had the absurd thought of his scar glowing purple. "You aren't going to tell me anything else, are you? Like how I'm going to get rid of it."

The Founder looked at him stonily. "Young Potter, should the soul-wound be tampered with… I believe your situation will worsen."

"I am _not _keeping a piece of someone's evil soul in me! If you won't help, I'll figure it on my own." Harry spun on his heel, his Spellfast cloak twisting against him.

"Potter."

Harry paused. What could the painting possibly say to him?

"Within you, there currently exists a tenuous balance."

He looked back over his shoulder, turning until he faced the Founder once again.

"Should you meddle with it, you may inadvertently bring about your own destruction."

"If I die, then I will have died thirteen years after I was meant to," Harry said sharply.

"It's true your magical core could collapse upon itself, snuffing out your life..." The portrait's features softened into a look of sorrow. Harry grew uncomfortable at the stare and so turned away. "But Death would be a small mercy compared to that which is likelier." There was a long pause as the green eyes became flinty as they fixed upon his scar. "Once the balance is disrupted, the Dark presence could take control and wear your body as if it were its own…"

"Then I should give up? I should let—"

"No. I ask for patience. If it could have been excised, the Healers who cared for you as a babe would have done so. At present, your magic has neither fully matured in skill nor control. To even attempt what you seek at this juncture is irresponsibly reckless."

"I can't sit by and do nothing!" Harry blurted out, his frustration at the knowledge of another terrible year at Hogwarts no longer suppressed. "That's worse than giving up!"

"Then—"

"Thank you for your time, but I'll manage it on my own!" Without waiting for a response, he stormed out, feeling a sick sort of bitterness well up within him. This was worse than Lycanthropy. He was infected with a piece of bloody Voldemort himself, and with it mad genius and probable destruction. The thought of harnessing its power seemed unlikely at best and dangerously volatile at worst. It was certain he could make himself angry enough to have the soul-shard react to whatever stimuli Harry had fixated on, but Harry did not think he could learn to control it nor did he want it growing aware of its position of strength within him. The thought of a piece of Voldemort taking him over scared him worse than even dementors. He wanted it _out_. Gruesome images flickered through his mind; most of them where his corpse was discovered by his friends. His low anger fizzled out. He didn't want to die, not really. He'd worked hard to live this long it seemed stupid to let it go because of bullheadedness.

He sucked in a deep breath and wondered fleetingly if Occlumency would help. Latching onto that idea, he scrolled through his options before abandoning it again. Three people he knew could teach Occlumency, one of which had taught him next to nothing over the summer. Harry could neither trust the headmaster nor Snape to rummage around his head with information as dangerous as this lying about, not to mention what they would do if they discovered he had the knowledge to cast two of the three Unforgivables. Obviously, Mad-Eye Moody would be fired, but Harry would be reprimanded by the headmaster because Harry should have refused to learn them on principle. The greasy-haired bastard would make some quip about his morals not being as strong and noble as he pretended they were, even if Harry had only performed each spell once.

Harry felt queasy. He had always been great at keeping secrets, but bad at using them. Now the whole enterprise seemed too convoluted to make sense of. He needed someone who was cunning and wasn't bloody Draco. Harry would've written to Theodore if he wasn't getting hairy in a day or so, and Sally-Anne, while bright and crafty, was already quite stressed without Harry adding to it.

He shook his head. No, he needed someone who had knowledge of those who were Legilimens and Occlumens… _"Tempus_."

Numbers glittered in the dimness of the torches lighting the dungeons before fading away.

Dinner would be served shortly, and Harry was not about to be late for it. Mind centered on his trusty cupboard, Harry entered the Great Hall with the eyesore of a flaming goblet sitting before the staff table. He stopped by Daphne, who'd been speaking to Tracey over a book the other witch held in her hands one on Muggle folklore of the Americas. He noticed that the massive Durmstrang witches were looking at him coolly. "Daphne."

Green eyes fluttered curiously when he didn't say a word more, and then she stood up. Ignoring the whispers, she led them through the great double doors to the Entrance Hall to the privacy that Harry wanted.

As soon as they exited the Great Hall, Harry cast a silencing ward over them. "I need an Occlumency tutor. One that's trustworthy and knows how to keep their lips buttoned. Money is no object. Have any suggestions?"

That question was obviously not what she'd been expecting as she blinked at him. "_Oh_… That would be a question better asked of Draco."

"You can't say you've _heard_ of anyone?"

Her face reddened, and she shook her head. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've heard of several, but their reputations do not make them recommendable." When her eyes bored into his, he could finally feel a niggling sensation, though it was much softer than Snape's. "Though I can see why you'd need one…"

Looking away, Harry ran a hand over his face. "Alright. If you could ask around that'd be great. Try to be discreet about it?"

"Certainly, your Grace." Daphne took a step closer. "And I won't tell anyone about the entanglement. Not even my closest friends."

Harry refused to look at her or show any other signs of how unnerved he was by her nonplussed manner about the soul-shard. "Thanks." He raised his wand to cancel the ward, but she held up a hand. He frowned at her.

"They're all wondering why you've called me out here," she stated.

"Hell's bells." Harry rubbed his forehead. "Right, say that I asked you out and you turned me down."

"And why would I turn you down?" Daphne grinned so broadly that a small dimple appeared on the right side of her face. Unease melting away, Harry had a strong suspicion she already knew what kind of effect her smile had on wizards. He glanced away before he started to imagine her naked. Completely unbidden that triggered a cascade of related imagery he really would have preferred not have happen while he was standing right next to a natural Legilimens.

Grasping frantically at his previous train of thought, he looked at the empty painting on the wall where a bald-headed Founder usually stood. "Because you like someone else…? I don't know. Make something up."

"And why would you suddenly ask me out?"

That puzzled Harry. "Because that's what wizards who need a date to the Yule Ball do…" He frowned. "Why does the motivation even matter?"

Daphne chortled. "I'll take care of the gossip, though I think you may come to regret it."

"Wait, I don't want to 'regret' anything."

"Then, I guess you want everyone to know how defenseless your mind is to Legilimency?"

"No, that's exactly what I want to avoid."

"Or we could be dating instead?"

"I don't want to date when I know for a fact that Lord Vole is planning to do something to me this year."

Daphne's black eyebrow lifted and then dropped. She gave a small smile as if she knew all of his secrets, and maybe she might. "Then your pride will have to deal with the blow." With a flick of her wand, she took down the ward and strolled back into the Great Hall before Harry could get another word in.

Harry let out a breath he'd been unconsciously holding and re-entered the hall to eat his meal. He ignored Draco's barbed questions about Daphne and was full after finishing a plate.

The next morning, Harry felt quite refreshed. The Sleeping Draught had worked. He finished breakfast without feeling the slightest bit annoyed by Draco, and headed to Arithmancy with a cheerful Hermione and a short-tempered Sally-Anne. While Hermione asked Sally-Anne what was wrong, Harry went ahead of them to give them some privacy. He expected that the Divination students would skive class to watch the boring procession of Hogwarts students willing to gamble their lives for glory and Galleons. That is, if Professor McGonagall didn't shoo all of them to class.

The classes of the day were over too quickly in Harry's humble opinion. It was now precisely an hour before six, and the Great Hall was teeming with students. Harry glanced over to the Gryffindor table to see that the noisy Weasley twins were once again clean-shaven and leaning on one another's shoulders in good spirits. Harry was trying not to show the agitation or anxiety he felt. Since someone had already put his name in the Goblet of Fire, there wasn't anything he could do to prevent his name coming out.

"You heard about Warrington?" Draco said quietly.

"I saw him put his name in Saturday morning," Harry answered.

Draco smacked his shoulder. "Why didn't you tell me, you lout! Do you know how long it's been that Slytherin's had a champion?"

"Four hundred years…?" _Though that streak will end tonight_, Harry thought grimly.

"Exactly. I hope he's chosen. It's about time the Slytherin House won the Triwizard Tournament."

"I thought no one's mad enough to try?" Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

Draco snorted derisively. "So far, only Warrington was."

Viktor Krum made several jibes about the Slytherin House having only a sole contributor, but none of the Vipers were in an uproar about it. It was Pike Lestrange who quietly explained to the Bulgarian Seeker why that was, and then the larger wizard shut up about it after solemnly offering a toast.

The Halloween feast had seemed to be much shorter than usual. Harry hadn't fancied the extravagantly prepared feast as they'd supped on every night since Friday evening; he hardly touched much of tonight's. He grew apprehensive as the time slid inexorably closer to six. Judging by the constantly craning necks, the fidgeting, and impatient expressions on every face, Harry felt he was the only one dreading the naming of champions, until he glanced down the table. Sally-Anne had barely eaten anything, opting to mash the food and push it around until the gravy turned the mass into slurry.

The bell tolled six o'clock in the distance. All the food and dishware disappeared from the tables. Nobody complained; many didn't even notice.

"Sit down, please," Professor Dumbledore said, and everyone who was standing found a place to sit. "Now the moment you've all been waiting for: The champion selection ceremony." He raised his right hand and wandlessly, nonverbally extinguished the flames of the candles and sconces of fire, plunging them into semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire glowed a mysterious blue, shining brighter than anything else in the Great Hall. Silently, everyone watched and waited. The trepidation was filling Harry more fully now. His instinct told him to run, but he forced himself to stay seated. It would be over shortly.

Professor Dumbledore placed his hands beseechingly against the side of the Goblet of Fire and then drew away, his wand-hand open and waiting.

The flames inside the goblet transitioned from blue to vibrant magenta red. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air and a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it. The headmaster snatched it out of the air. "The Durmstrang champion is Viktor Krum."

The Durmstrang and Slytherin students roared with approval as Krum stepped up in his usual slouched posture and shook hands with Professor Dumbledore.

"Bravo, Viktor!" High Master Karkaroff boomed so loudly that everyone could hear him over the applause.

The Durmstrang champion went behind the staff table and then disappeared through the door behind it.

The clapping died down, and a few seconds later the fire above the goblet turned red once more. A second piece of parchment, this time pleated, smoked in the headmaster's hand.

"The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!"

The girl who was suspected to be part-veela shook her sheet of silvery blonde hair, pursing her lips to try to keep from smiling too broadly. She swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. Sobbing reached Harry's ears and he looked over and saw that two girls and three boys who had not been selected had dissolved into tears. He thought that was rather peculiar. He would not have been upset, personally.

Delacour shook hands with Professor Dumbledore and then disappeared into the side chamber behind the staff table. This time, when silence fell again, it was so stiff with excitement that Harry could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion was all that was left to be chosen. Harry forced himself to breathe evenly, his hands clenched against the long table.

The fire turned red and sparks showered out of it. The parchment fluttered out and the headmaster once again snapped it out of the air.

Without looking particularly put-out, Professor Dumbledore took a moment to read the name. "The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!"

A roar of congratulations and encouragements sprang from the Hufflepuff tables; many of them jumped up stamping their feet and screaming happily, while everyone else clapped. Cedric high-fived many of his housemates and then shook hands with the headmaster before heading into the side chamber behind the staff table.

Confused but exceedingly relieved of the burden, Harry was clapping so hard that his hands hurt. His heart was slowing from the anxious beating it'd started. He looked down the table to see Sally-Anne, still as a marble statue, her face drained of color. Clapping politely, a worried Pansy was leaning next to her ear. Sally-Anne didn't lift her eyes from the table, but the noise around her didn't seem to register. Unease was settling deep within Harry's belly, his immense relief stunted mid-bloom. Draco was asking him whatever was the matter with him, but Harry hardly heard him as the headmaster addressed the hall.

"Excellent!" Professor Dumbledore roared over the applause. "We now have our three champions!" He stepped across the length of the Great Hall, looking at the spread of students. "But in the end, only one will go down in history. Only one will hoist this chalice of champions…"

Mr. Crouch brought something covered into the Great Hall from the door behind the staff table, setting the object on a stool before the headmaster's empty chair.

"This vessel of victory, the Triwizard Cup!" The headmaster pointed at the covering, and it flew off the object. An enormous double-handed hexagonal cup sat, glowing with the same mysterious blue light as the Goblet of Fire. It had what looked like silver serpents for handles and intricate etchings in the clear crystal sides of it.

The Great Hall roared with the students' approval, excluding Harry's because the sinking feeling was back. And then his attention focused on Professor Snape, who had tilted his head with a look of concern as he stepped forth from his position near the Triwizard Cup. Professor Dumbledore, seeing this look upon the Potions Master's face, spun around to see that the Goblet of Fire was sparking once more.

Harry's stomach plummeted. _Please have nothing to do with me_, he begged whatever gods or fates were listening as a distressed look crossed the headmaster's face. Harry had the sudden urge to jump from his seat and run from the Great Hall.

_'You'll make it through the trials of fire, water, and wood. All the champions will.' _But Sally-Anne hadn't seen that there were _four _of them, had she?

The cheering and clapping died off and silence once again reigned in the hall as Professor Dumbledore steadily approached the Goblet of Fire. The fire had just turned red again, angry sparks were flying out of it, and then a long flame shot out of it and borne upon it a single smoldering piece of paper.

When the headmaster grabbed it and looked at it, for an instant he looked as if he might sick on the floor. Harry squeezed his robes with tight fists as his heart hammered in his ears, knowing what was to come.

"Harry Potter…"


	8. The Reluctant Champion

_**Author's Notes: **Much fun with this chapter. I honestly never intended to average 10,000 words a chapter.  
_

**_Edit:_**_ Holy Batman, I found a lot of errors. Sorry about that._

* * *

"Harry Potter…" The headmaster murmured again after a long pause. The students from the other Houses were looking along the Slytherin Table. Without thinking, Harry automatically shrunk behind Crabbe's frame to stay out of view.

"No," the half-giant said aloud, his voice cracking, "Not Harry." All false bravado fled from Harry at the broken tone. Hagrid didn't believe he could do this.

Harry's body would not unbend from its position. He didn't want to go up there. He looked at his expectant housemates and the solemn-faced Durmstrang students who stared at him unwaveringly, too stunned to feel betrayed yet. Only Sally-Anne stood out, since she was staring quite fixed at the grains of the long table trapped beneath years of varnish.

"Harry," Draco whispered, "Go up there."

"_No,_" he hissed quietly into the dismally silent hall.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat, his expression much more neutral than before. "Harry…?" He looked directly towards the Slytherin in question, who slid off his bench and sunk to the floor silently. The teenager wished he hadn't come back to Hogwarts this year, wished he'd listened to the suggestion about paying for private tutors. His mind wriggled in an uncomfortable manner. He thought he'd be okay with being a champion. He thought he might act casual as he walked out in front of everyone, but the reality was that his stomach was in knots, his palms were sweaty, and he was struggling to breathe evenly.

"Remember," Sally-Anne said softly as she placed a hand on his shoulder, "You'll survive the tasks. I swear it." Her small voice seemed to be swallowed up by the unnatural quiet where the hollow sound of the Goblet's flame echoed. Even when everyone had been asleep last year, it had never been so still.

Ice gripped his belly, and he shrugged her warm hand from his shoulder, still crouched. He wouldn't meet her eyes. He was surprised that the headmaster hadn't started to yell yet.

"Your Grace," Draco murmured, crouched on the other side of him.

"I won't be made to do something I'm not responsible for," he said quietly. "Besides, Hogwarts already has its champion. It has to be a mistake."

With an annoyed cluck, Draco grabbed the front of his robes and forced him to his feet. Hundreds of pairs of eyes immediately focused upon Harry, making him feel at risk of attack. The headmaster was waiting patiently, possibly considering the anomaly of a fourth champion. Harry thought the adult should've been angrier, but he simply stood there, while the whispering intensified in the Great Hall.

The prat calmly adjusted Harry's tie and his glasses in a likely attempt to make him look more presentable. "No more excuses. Go." Harry was shoved forward. He stumbled regaining his footing by steadying himself against the cool stone wall of Hogwarts. Shocked by Draco's cool composure, Harry's mind had emptied of any thoughts that might have helped distract him from the whispers. His housemates' expressions were blank all along the long table, their feelings hidden from the public eye.

"I believe in you, Harry!" The self-proclaimed friend of a first year sent a bright smile, appearing determined to have a brave face for him. The smile Harry attempted to return to Dennis was a grimace. Numbly, Harry continued forward, pushing through the quagmire of self-doubt and alarm. He hardly trusted his feet to carry him, but his strides were growing more confident and brisk.

Standing before the Goblet of Fire, the unruffled Professor Dumbledore was looking at him with a very severe expression; only his blue eyes minutely became more forgiving after they met Harry's. The parchment was still smoking in his wizened hand. As soon as Harry had gotten within arm's reach of the headmaster, the burnt piece of lined Muggle paper was presented to him, and he took it. He recognized his own handwriting; it was _years_ old, written with a Muggle ballpoint pen, _very different from the slip that his name had been inked on_—He jerked his head up in surprise, confused.

Professor Dumbledore nodded grimly and gestured to the side chamber, and Harry began towards the staff table. He was growing exceedingly dizzy by the moment. He had to remind himself that air was necessary to keep from emptying the contents of his stomach on the floor or fainting in a humiliating manner in front of Ministry officials and foreign dignitaries.

"He's a cheat!" Someone cried out.

"He's not even seventeen yet!" The Weasley twins, Harry's mind identified without turning around.

Half a breath later came the defense from the other side of the hall, "As if the opinions of two longstanding losers matter!" Harry thought that might've been lobbed by Pansy. He didn't dare look now since that insult had sparked a deluge of offensive descriptions and swear words, many of them aimed at Harry's underhanded entry.

"That is ENOUGH!" The command came from Professor McGonagall, unsurprising since the roar of noise was coming from her House. The noise dropped to a low angry buzz.

Professor Snape gave Harry an unreadable look down his nose at the end of the staff table, and the sharp jab of nonverbal Legilimency made itself known.

"Git," Harry muttered and deliberately looked down at the floor again, hating that he'd been ensnared into participating in some ridiculous death tournament. He stumbled up the three steps, noticing how the niggling feeling remained. His ears were still ringing with the yells of foul play as he walked around a depressed Hagrid and other professors. He feebly thought of his cupboard, and the sensation of his mind being raked over fell away. The adults were staring at him with pitying looks up and down the staff table, except Mr. Crouch who was looking at him suspiciously. Only Professor Moody appeared unsurprised by the strange turn of events. As Harry passed by him, the professor tapped—brushed down—his front left pocket where he kept his chalk. To anyone else, it would look natural; an unsuspicious movement with no meaning.

Harry's mouth wouldn't come undone as dawning comprehension filtered through the gauze of numbness. Rage was beginning to gnaw at his gut. If he allowed it to fester, the soul-shard might kill Mad-Eye Moody on the spot. Turning away half a second later, he continued into the side chamber like the rest of the champions before him. As soon as he passed through the archway, the deafening roar of voices all demanding answers of the headmaster rose like a high tide.

The walls of the descending staircase seemed to absorb the noise like gauze wound over his ears. There were animated paintings whispering to one another when they saw him. He dangerously teetered down the steps to the next room, and the cast-iron wrought gates opened for him. He heard distinct yelling behind him, reminding him of the Dursleys. The adults were arguing, Harry was in so much trouble, and all because of a grown wizard's grudge against him for something he didn't even do.

Before Harry were the three true champions, standing in front of a roaring fireplace. They looked extraordinarily impressive, silhouetted by flames. Harry felt most inadequate at the sight of them, feeble and inexperienced. He loathed that feeling.

"What is it? Do zey want us back in ze 'all?"

_Oh_, Harry thought faintly, _she thought I came to give them a message_. As much as he tried not to let it get to him, it ate at him at how very tall all of them were. He was tiny in comparison. The angry voices were growing closer.

"You stupid boy!" A voice whipped out furiously behind him. Snape. He probably thought Harry had defeated the Age Line, just because he could. Harry's terror had not been enough to convince him.

_I didn't do it_. The meager words wouldn't fall.

The three champions were exchanging looks with one another, bewildered by the ire they heard.

Harry was grabbed from behind more violently than he expected. Snape's disgusting breath hissed something about deliberate maleficence on Harry's part; the young Slytherin was uncertain on exactly what that was, since he mostly tuned out the greasy-haired git's livid rant. The words fizzed and popped over him like bubbles riding waves breaking on a beach. The hold on his shoulders grew tighter, and he was shaken—_Boy! It's the cupboard for you!—_and then his Head of House leaned very close, dark eyes sparking, near to madness from the surge of rage. "The _great_ _Harry Potter_, how special he must be made to feel… Why else does this happen _every year, _Potter? _Every year_! If you aren't running off to save the day by jumping into lairs known to be inhabited by basilisks or throwing yourself in front of enraged hippogriffs or sprinting after Changed werewolves and convicted felons, _then explain, _you stupid boy, why you felt the need to enter!"

_Didn't, didn't, didn't. _Unable to defend himself from the irrational conclusion, Harry felt too wrung out to answer. The tight fingers on his shoulders dug in with barely restrained violence. The floor wavered and trembled beneath Harry, a familiar warning sign. He didn't try to mitigate what was to come by breathing deeply. No, he did the opposite, embracing it.

His knees gave out, and he slumped back. Snape snapped out a few choice words about Harry's cowardice, and then the teen heard no more.

* * *

He woke to the sound of rain pounding against the glass in the infirmary and thunder grumbling through the springs of the bed. For a moment, he laid there taking comfort in his surroundings. The thought of why he hadn't been Ennervated for immediate questioning bothered him. The headmaster must not have allowed Snape to do it. Pushing the covers off, he slowly rose from the bed and put his glasses on. He'd felt better than he had in the past month probably because it was the second-most restful night of sleep he'd gotten that year. The robes fell around him, lightweight and soft. He ran a hand over his chest and then over the collar, not recognizing it. They must be patient robes.

Shuffling forward, he felt stone and then a windowsill he knew would be there. In the darkness, he leaned against the windowsill, staring out where the window would be_. Strange, tonight should have had a waning full moon._ Then a flash of brief lightning reminded him of the storm as it illuminated the grounds and the streaks of rain outside. Worried, Harry wondered if he was going to relive his second year all over again. Would anyone in Slytherin, besides Sally-Anne and Theodore, believe that he _never_ _wanted_ to be a Triwizard champion?

"Finally awake?" Draco's voice said from behind, startling him.

"Am I still the fourth Triwizard champion?" Harry asked the window, tracing a finger against the smooth, leaded glass. He already knew the answer, but it always helped to have a second opinion.

"It is the bizarre reality," came the uncharacteristically impartial answer.

No gleeful claims to Slytherin prowess or glory? No boasts of the first Slytherin champion in four centuries? Harry peered into the darkness, only dimly seeing an outline of another person seated until a flash of light brought Draco's pale face into stark contrast. "You know, I don't _want_ eternal glory," he said, verbally prodding his roommate to get a reaction from him. Harry's scar itched so he scratched it. It'd been doing that more of late.

"I would like to say that I _was_ cognizant of your reaction. Anybody with a brain could see that you didn't ask someone to place your name in the Goblet of Fire." A flash of light flickered through the room. "You don't have to look surprised. I'm not an idiot to make the same mistake twice."

Feeling strange, Harry turned away again. He was silent for a moment, and then he said, "I'd like to avoid facing Lord Vole again."

"Who said anything about facing the Dark Lord?" Draco responded icily. The more he heard Harry's nickname it seemed the worse Draco felt about it.

"He wants to use me in a blood ritual," Harry said. Rain beat against the window, while the storm raged outside. He watched fixated by the sheets of slanting rain whenever the sky lit up to see.

"I already know about the prophecy Longbottom witnessed months ago, and it didn't have anything specific in it that pointed to you." There was a tapping sound and the lamp on the desk sparked to life. Draco put his wand away. "Would you like some water?"

"I'm fine." Harry tightly gripped the solid stones forming the wall, the window dark but for the flashes of lightning. "…Then you don't know."

"Know what?"

The clues had always been there indicating that Lucius Malfoy carefully disseminated only piecemeal information to his son. Why had Harry assumed Draco would be told something as sensitive as this? Harry hesitated a moment. "About the visions."

"Visions?" Draco sounded curious and horrified at once. "Don't tell me you have a Seer gift."

"No," Harry said. He'd given it a lot of thought after all, what he would say to his fellow Slytherins about his strange behaviors, to his roommates about the nightmarish visions. He only had to act well in the process, but he had to hit close to the truth. "I think I'm… connected to _him_…" He turned slightly from the window, watching him out the corner of his eye. "I can sense things. See things I'm not meant to."

The other Slytherin inhaled hard at the revelation, rising from his chair. His eyes were piercing, almost manic. "What did you see?"

"_He_ was scheming in a house on a hill by a graveyard… saying how he had waited thirteen years, and that a few months more didn't really matter in his grand plan, and that I was pivotal to this plan." When there was only silence, he looked directly at Draco who was gazing at him like he didn't know him at all.

"Why tell me now?"

Harry's face shuttered. "It's not smart to keep something like this to myself anymore. Your father already knows that I get visions, but not what about."

Draco frowned. "You wouldn't tell him, and you wouldn't talk about something like this around someone who might… How did he find out…? Don't tell me." Between a blink and a curl of his lips, Draco's expression fell a bit. "You caught him spying on you. Is that why you never answered my mirror-calls? Because I was prime suspect? But _why_ was I prime suspect—Oh. _Oh, _that sneaky bastard," he said sounding more impressed than he wanted to be. The blond prat rolled on his heels as if struck by the idea. "My birthday present."

It was quite unnerving exactly how quick Draco was to catch on. Harry would have to be careful. "It was Repeating Parchment."

"An expensive gift since each sheet would be worth a Galleon or more. He would only do that if he was certain you didn't trust my friendship, but were too stupid to know about magical espionage." With a cluck, Draco was smiling again. "I assume you've disposed of them already?"

"I had Dobby burn all of it."

"Too bad that." Draco began to pace on the other side of the bed. "Father knows you caught him then, and you've lost any opportunity for future manipulations or direct communication. Now, you've sent the message that you're simple-minded and honest. He'll definitely try again because chances are high that if he's caught he'll know almost immediately."

"I won't let him do it again."

"He won't send Repeating Parchment again." The smile waned when Draco became still again. "Are you going to illuminate this plan to me? Because I'd think you'd want me to help prevent you from being chopped up for a stew of blood and bones."

Harry's stomach lurched. "Do you have to be so graphic about it?"

"No need to spare you from the possibility if it means you're motivated to stay out of the Dark Lord's hands."

Rubbing his face over once, Harry scowled. "Snape isn't to know about this—"

"Quite the reasonable worry, though groundless. I don't tell my godfather _everything_."

"You know what he's capable of better than I do. I can only divert and deflect his attention. I can't protect my mind." In a spurt of inspiration, the insane idea to have himself Obliviated surfaced. But he couldn't let the terrible information go. It wouldn't be safe for the others if Harry went into a temper again.

"I could teach you what I know." Draco rubbed his hands together looking at the candle. "That would be why you spoke to Daphne earlier? To see if she knew any reputable Occlumency tutors. I was there when you asked her little sister last year. I suppose your current guardian wasn't a very good teacher."

Letting the stone against his hand firmly ground him, Harry glared. "Let _you_ inside my head? You must think I'm stupid."

"Yes, doing nothing is _always_ the better option. Cage yourself in until you're so desperate that you'll jump at the first offer of help." Draco's eyes rolled once to the side. "You're too stubborn when you should be flexible, too lenient when you should be harsh. It's a wonder why anyone looks up to you."

Brushing off his annoyance at the backhanded compliment, Harry scowled. "And exactly what would you want from me in return?"

"I want to replace your current advisor. He's obviously not doing a very good job."

"…My advisor?"

Draco let out an annoyed huff. "Theodore Nott, who else? Whenever you have trouble you go to _him_; I've seen you do it. But this year's different. He's hardly around, and when he is, he's either giving you shoddy counsel or he's off being seduced by a Dream Seer!"

Levelling a hard stare at the blond prat, Harry shifted his aching feet. "If I understand right, you, the son of a Death Eater, want to support a fourteen-year-old who's likely to end up quartered and stuffed into a cauldron to raise a smarter, eviler Dark Lord. This 'support' would require that I allow you access to my secrets, go to you with my troubles, and follow your advice." Harry felt his face pull as he smiled nastily. "Yes, why wouldn't I jump at that chance?"

Draco's jaw clenched as if being found untrustworthy was an affront. "This plot against you requires a plant inside Hogwarts, doesn't it?"

Begrudgingly, Harry nodded.

"Go on then. Ask me why my godfather doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Why not?"

"You _do_ remember whose eye color you inherited?" Draco drawled out, inspecting his nails with great interest under the dim lamplight. Lightning flickered, and several moments later a crash of thunder rolled through them, the gasping breath of a dying storm.

Harry shoved down the annoyance which had re-materialized because his roommate bloody well knew that everyone liked to point it out. "Yes. What's that have to do with anything?"

Draco stepped closer, looking as if he might land hands on Harry's hunched shoulders before he decided not to and left them at his sides. "You're incredibly thick about matters of the heart, aren't you?"

A snort of derision came from Harry. "I know where you're going with this."

"Oh?"

"Don't expect me to believe that _Snape_ holds some affection towards me because of something as superficial and silly as _eye color_. He's made it plain that I'm nothing more than a nuisance foisted onto him by an unfortunate Sorting and the headmaster's orders. I'm not stupid, Draco. You told me he specifically asked Lord Vole to not kill my mum, and there wasn't any mention about a newborn in that plea for mercy, was there?"

"Hmm." With a thoughtful look, Draco crossed his arms over his chest, running a finger against his bottom lip. He'd begun to fill out into his tall frame when Harry hadn't been looking.

Harry was still short and lean next to him, even after all the vile nutrient potions he'd taken over the past few years. He quashed the spark of jealousy worming up. Being jealous of Draco on a matter of physical appearance was absolutely pathetic. "You're never convinced by what I have to say. At least, Theo _listens_."

"Even though you act like you hate my godfather, you actually hoped the plant was the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Stiffening at the accusation, Harry deflected from answering by saying, "But he's an ex-Auror and hates every Dark Wizard around."

"Which makes it quite odd that he has no difficulty demonstrating the three Unforgivables in front of us, don't you think?" Any sign of amusement had left. "Doesn't quite seem in character for him, but he might already have us marked as future Death Eaters. I hadn't heard any complaints from the Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs about his teaching style…"

"None?" Harry couldn't keep the incredulity out of his tone.

Draco shook his head. "He goes quickly and efficiently with the lessons with the Eagles—very to their liking—to cram as much information as possible into their overlarge heads. He's gruff, but patient with the Badgers, and they're usually quite particular with new staff."

"What about the Gryffindors?"

"They'd complain about not being able to Apparate to the moon if they thought you were listening. They are unreliable; if they aren't extrapolating nuances that aren't there, they're wildly exaggerating the details for attention." Before Harry could correct him, Draco added, "Excepting a few outliers that I am not on good terms with to expect a reasonable answer when asking a question about a serious matter."

"But with us…" Harry crossed his arms before quickly uncrossing him. He'd been mimicking Draco without thinking. "He's harsher than he needs to be and is underhanded to get us to do what he wants… Doesn't that make him a decent teacher because he can change his teaching method to suit his students?"

Draco blinked as if that hadn't occurred to him. "Could mean that, but I've never liked how he watches you constantly. Then again, he could be doing that at the headmaster's request."

Maybe under great stress Harry's paranoid brain had taken an unthreatening gesture from Professor Moody and warped it into something else. But who else would have put his name in? "I need to prove he's not the Dark Lord's servant."

"Perhaps Polyjuiced…? Hm. You never do see him without his flask. But there's a very good reason for that. He's had no less than seventy-eight public attempts on his life, three of them by poison." Draco looked quite thoughtful, uncrossing his arms to prop a fist on a hip. "Very few things can reveal a Polyjuiced individual, the simplest and safest being time without another dose… And if we're wrong, we'd be in exceptionally deep trouble…" He tapped an index finger against his chin. "Could have been High Master Karkaroff who slipped your name in. He was seen skulking around the Goblet of Fire for the past three nights…"

"Is he a Death Eater?"

"Was. But he, least of all, would want the Dark Lord to return. He snitched on others without gaining more than his own bag of skin. So, no, likely not him either." The blond sighed with a shake of his head. "We'll think on it later. If no one has tried to kill you yet, we can assume that the Dark Lord wanted you in the tournament. No, we've more pressing issues to discuss, such as what your first task is going to be."

"Has it been announced already?"

"No." Draco smiled.

Harry did not hurt him, despite the interminably long time it took from him to explain what he meant. Harry prompted, "No?"

"As I understood it, there was a large paper trail of shipments of illegal-to-import creatures at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures…"

Sally-Anne had said the first task would be a trial by _fire_. "_Dragons_?"

"Very good, and with plenty of time to prepare I fully expect you to _survive _with minimal injury." Draco's smile broadened, and Harry wanted to strike him for it. "Even better, you have a foot up on your competition."

"You want me to win, don't you?" Harry accused.

"There's no harm in flipping a disastrous turn of fortune into prime opportunity. At least, that's what my father's always told me when stupid, horrible things happen to me..." Ever the flagrant showman, Draco paused unnecessarily and gestured towards Harry. "Until I met you, I never understood what he meant about turning feces into fertilizer; it smells bad either way you have it. But it's really all a matter of perspective, which is why people hire new advisors instead of relying on previously trusted advisors who neglected to keep them out of trouble."

Harry's hands clenched at his sides. "I want to strangle you."

"I well understand the feeling." The smiling prat pocketed his hands and took a few steps back. "But your pride isn't going to let you do anything less than your best effort now, is it?" He sounded quite sure of himself, but the fact that he removed himself from Harry's reach made Harry feel a bit better.

Harry grumbled.

Draco laughed softly and then proceeded to tell him how the whole of the Slytherin House was taking a moment out of their busy schedules to research different strategies when tackling one of the four different breeds of dragons Harry might face.

Harry sat on the windowsill, trying to give the appearance of someone looking bored when he was actually listening with rapt attention. Because of Sally-Anne's words, Harry was just as confident as Draco that he would survive. Unlike the other teen, he wasn't as confident about finishing the tournament un-maimed. But to win the Triwizard tournament? That didn't seem so out of reach by the way Draco waxed on about it.

"This will be great for you. Everyone's going to see you for what you really are," Draco said at the end of his long explanation.

"An orphaned, inept Half-blood?" Harry said jokingly.

"_No!_" Draco swung a hand, cutting through the air. "A talented, _great_ wizard who has overcome a pitiful Muggle upbringing to claim championship over those with greater age and familiarity with magic."

"Very well, Dennis—" WHUMPF. Harry caught himself against the inner wall before he fell over. The soft, cottony pillow had bounced to the floor after nailing Harry in the face. "Oi!"

"Fair's fair. I am _nothing_ like that odious first year—!" Draco cut himself off when the sconces set into the walls lit themselves and slowly began to brighten.

The door to Madam Pomfrey's office opened and out came the Hogwarts Healer and the Potions Master. "Mr. Malfoy, cut the theatrics. I will have none of that nonsense in my infirmary." She bustled to Harry and waved a wand in front of him. The bright light of diagnostic magic appeared in the air before him, causing him to close his eyes reflexively. Behind his eyelids, the light disappeared. "All looks good, dear."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey." His eyes were still adjusting to the dim light.

She smiled at him and turned to his roommate. "Come, Mr. Malfoy. I will escort you as far as the Entrance Hall."

With a cross look, Draco glanced between his silent godfather and Harry. "See you later."

After a halfhearted wave, he watched them leave. As soon as the doors closed behind them, he glanced at his ex-guardian. "What do you want?"

A stick of wood eleven inches long was held up. Harry knew better than to snatch it from the thin, pale fingers. "You have been dabbling in Arts that have long been stripped from Hogwarts' curriculum."

Pressing his lips firmly together, Harry simply looked past his Head of House. The git also thought that Harry had put his name in for the running too, when he hadn't.

"…I spent a considerable amount of time using the Spell Chronology Charm on your wand, Potter. And do you know what I discovered?" After a minute of utter silence from Harry, Snape growled, "_You_ were the one who set the curse upon Professor Moody—"

"I haven't—!"

"—and sometime after cast two of the three Unforgivables, probably on some unsuspecting animal."

"But Moody—"

"That's _high_ _crime_, Potter. No matter if you are a minor or not, only with the rarity of prior approval from the Ministry can a person legally use them." Black eyes bore into Harry's skull, and Harry knew that if he really wanted to, the adult could rip the facts of his innocence from his memories. "Have you anything to say for yourself?"

"Professor Moody taught them to us. The Imperius and Cruciatus Curses."

"Look at me."

A very reluctant Harry recalled the lessons and was swallowed into darkness and rage the soonest his mind was lanced with Legilimency. And then he was released, his head aching with unfamiliar, discordant memories. He sat down heavily onto the bed, kneading his temples. That had never happened before.

"We will meet with the headmaster at a more appropriate hour tomorrow. He will decide what to do with you." He set a vial upon the bedside table. "Drink this. The head boy will watch over you tonight to make sure you don't wander needlessly as you have apparently done these past few weeks."

Still reeling, Harry didn't know what he was talking about. The grimy memories were folding away from him, out of reach. Black robes trailed after Snape, and the thin, reedy Mervyn Wynch entered after.

Harry didn't want to talk to anyone else when he felt as if evil pixies were slamming hammers behind his eyeballs. Uncorking the vial, Harry drank it back. Not a moment later, he fell onto the covers fast asleep.

When Harry woke up late morning without dreams, he sat up straight pushing the covers back, looking from one side of the empty infirmary to the other. He thought it was odd that he would be left alone after Professor Snape accused him of serious offenses. His stomach gurgled hungrily. He stood up, putting the Glaxxes on, and took off the patient robes to pull on his clean robes. He snapped on his empty wand holster. His green pouch was nowhere to be found. Snape must've taken it along with his wand. Perhaps the thought was that Harry couldn't slip away without notice if he had neither his wand nor Invisibility Cloak.

When someone coughed with the sound of fluid in their chest, Harry was pulled back to the present moment. He was in the infirmary, and it was obvious he was a flight risk. Did they trust him not to try to run? He looked about for any sign of magical traps before he ventured much farther than his bed. Nothing.

Harry heard the doors open; he peeked around the blinds to see Sally-Anne rush in with a stack of toast. "Want to go for a walk?" She whispered, "I have permission from Madam Pomfrey."

It must be Free Period. Harry was surprised not to see a stack of work, seeing as how he'd missed History of Magic class.

"Yes, I would like that very much," Harry said, doubly grateful and suspicious that he hadn't been put under house arrest. He took a piece of jam-slathered toast and chomped a bite out of it.

They went the alternate route out of Hogwarts castle passing the greenhouses, where at most two or three Herbology classes would be taking place. They were soon striding across the lawn toward the lake where the Durmstrang ship was moored. It was a chilly morning, so they kept moving, munching on the toast in comfortable silence.

Harry took in deep breaths of air, allowing the calm around him to settle into his head. He wasn't really that scared about the tournament, since Draco apparently had it well in hand. It was this new problem, this being accused of nefarious plots against Moody, which had Harry's unease rearing its ugly head. "I want to go to the common room. Do I have permission for that?" He finally said to Sally-Anne.

She grinned. "Come on. I want to see your face when you see it."

He followed her, his imagination running wild. Perhaps there was some sort of magical illusion to practice fighting against dragons? No, Harry reminded himself, he had to assume his housemates were in a celebratory mood. What if it was bedecked with Slytherin colors and they'd been partying in wait for their Triwizard Champion to show? "What've they done to it?"

"Nothing you wouldn't approve of."

"…" He hoped that was so.

"And we know you don't appreciate hero worship." Sally-Anne hesitated. "Well, other than that one over-exuberant first year…"

"Good." It was probably best he didn't have his wand. He would have hexed Dennis if the boy was stupid enough to hug him without warning.

Quietly they re-entered Hogwarts through a side entrance and took the stairs down to the dungeons. Standing in front of the portrait-hole was a Creevey. Colin lifted his camera and started taking pictures of Harry as an unerring flow of questions and compliments poured out of his mouth, one of which he repeated several times, "How'd you get past the Age Line, Harry? Everyone in Gryffindor thinks you're brilliant!"

"I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire. I didn't ask anyone to put my name in the Goblet of Fire," he said mechanically and then gave Sally-Anne an annoyed look, when Colin asked the same questions again in different words. Obviously, the third year didn't believe him. Perhaps this was what Draco had meant by Gryffindors extrapolating incorrectly.

"Excuse me," she said regally, "Harry Potter is exhausted right now. Any questions you may have can be directed to his personal advisor, Draco Malfoy."

What a bother. Now, Draco was telling everyone his newfound status, which Harry hadn't given him. Of course, he would be believed since Harry had been in his company for the first months of the year. Harry scowled.

"Draco Malfoy is ignoring my post. I saw him burn my letter today without even opening it," Colin complained. "What if I'd tried to send Harry's photos to him? They'd be gone!"

"Then don't send letters," Crabbe said gruffly.

The portrait of the Thin Lady had swung open behind Harry, and Crabbe and Goyle were standing in its entrance. "Shoo!" Goyle stepped forward, throwing out a meaty hand and very nearly backhanding the Gryffindor. Creevey let out a yelp of fright and escaped down the corridor like a rabbit who'd been flushed out of bushes. Crabbe chuckled at the sight, thwacking Goyle on the shoulder approvingly.

"Thanks," Harry said to the hulking Goyle. His roommate nodded, staring at the floor bashfully.

Instead of horrid cheers of welcome and senseless festivity, the Slytherin common room was buzzing with single-minded activity. Harry let out a small sigh of relief as he walked down the steps. There were tables set up with stacks of papers. Harry had to duck a floating paper airplane whizzing by to be caught by a student standing among a group who had their heads together with focused excitement. Harry definitely approved. None seemed to even notice his entrance.

"The Grey Grace is back!" Harry overheard from the corner. His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to determine who'd said that. An unabashed Dennis Creevey seemed prime suspect.

"Harry!" Pike Lestrange, flanked by several of his yearmates, lifted a hand in greeting. "Better?"

"I feel great… besides the whole I-might-lose-a-limb-and-can't-back-out bit," Harry muttered.

"Yeah… that would be the downside. I'm sorry that someone put your name in the Goblet of Fire." The other third years nodded somberly behind him. So, his House family seemed to have learned from the Heir of Slytherin fiasco to not make assumptions when strange happenings occurred around Harry. "When we find out who did it, they will regret defying you." While Harry struggled to formulate a response that didn't sound ungrateful, Lestrange shoved a large dark blue pouch into his hands. Harry didn't assume that his things had been given back yet. He opened it and found countless vials of potions within it. The third year continued, "You've got to take sleep aids until the tournament's over. Poor reflexes have killed more experienced men when facing down a dragon."

Harry nodded. "Thanks, Lestrange. Did Madam Pomfrey tell you I hadn't been sleeping?"

He smiled and tapped the side of his nose. "Our Head of House used _Priori Incantatem_ on your wand to see if you bypassed the Age Line and discovered you had cast an awful lot of Silencing Wards. There were an awful lot of traces of it around your bed… Those Slytherins in detention brewed several batches of that to keep your… issue… underwraps."

"Ah," Harry said, turning to Sally-Anne. "And the class work I missed?"

She smiled. "Tracey promised to give me notes on Binns' class since I skipped; I'll give those to you as soon as she gives me a copy."

"Thanks. I'm heading up to my room. I need some space."

"Alright," Sally-Anne said.

Alone, Harry took the stairs to his empty dormitory and sat at his desk. He'd placed the bag of draughts on it. He had no homework left to finish for that week, and he had loads of time before Astronomy class. He was inordinately glad that he didn't have to exhaust himself fighting his own House on top of everything else. Harry was especially unsure of what to think of Snape's decision to keep his housemates in the dark about the levelled accusations. He at least appreciated the wizard's tact.

There came a timid knock on the door. Harry glanced at the time. The first class of the day had finished, but it couldn't be any of his roommates. They wouldn't have bothered knocking. Walking across the room, Harry opened it, and Dennis Creevey beamed up at him. "Professor Snape wants to see you in his office downstairs."

"Right." He stepped out, shutting the door behind him, and started going down the spiral staircase.

"Every Slytherin _says_ you didn't do it—put your name in the Goblet of Fire. But I don't know if they really believe it. They're all too excited about having someone like you to represent us. I do know that you wouldn't lie about putting your name in. If you say you didn't, you didn't." Dennis took a breath. "My brother doesn't believe you though. He thinks all Vipers lie. I already told him he's wrong to call you a liar. You're the Boy Who Lived. You might lie about small stuff like everyone else, but you wouldn't about something like this. The Gryffindors have two other Houses between them and us during meals; they couldn't have seen how sick you looked when your name was called. I thought you were going to pass out on the spot."

Harry was quite happy to see the archway into the common room. It meant there were only twenty more steps to Snape's office and away from Dennis' chatter. "I'm glad I didn't either. That would have been an embarrassment for everyone involved."

"Yeah!" When Harry turned down the short corridor, Dennis stayed in the common room with a little wave. "Good luck!" He stage-whispered as if he knew Harry was in trouble.

And then the oddly perceptive first year was gone.

Steeling himself, Harry walked through the open door and shut it behind him, instantly silencing the noise from the common room. Besides himself, no one was in the office. He pulled the cupboard into his mind and waited.

Harry heard raised voices drifting down from somewhere. He frowned, tilting his head. It was coming from the storeroom which held the secret entrance to Slytherin's Personal Study.

"I was to inform you that they are awaiting your presence upstairs as soon as you arrived," came a voice from his left. He blinked at Salazar Slytherin's grave demeanor and then nodded. The Founder walked out of the frame.

In the storeroom, a part of the stone wall was open leading to a dimly lit stairwell. Harry edged through it, seeing endless darkness leading straight down. It only meant that he shouldn't try to fall to find out how deep it went. Hand tracing along the damp wall he took the tiny steps two at a time trying not to trip. The sound of Snape arguing his point was unmistakable.

"—It's clear that he's drawn to the Dark Arts."

"I disagree, Severus. Lord Slytherin has mentioned to me that Harry has yet to take up his offer for tutelage. He resists the _allure_ of power—"

"You can't make that assumption! He has been studying, alone, in the library. His stubborn, proud self wouldn't allow anyone to _teach _him Dark magic. No, he has to follow in the deranged footsteps of the Marauders and experiment with dangerous magic!"

"He has never set foot in the Restricted Section… Severus, I urge you to see reason. He has had within his possession the cloak all these years and only sought to use it for the benefit of others."

"Until recently."

Harry had reached the doorway where warm sunlight spilled into the dark stairwell.

"Yes…" The headmaster sounded very disappointed about this. "Harry, come in. We've been expecting you."

Harry carefully walked into the room. His eyes trailed over the majestic Oriental rug on the ground as he stepped closer. The manners he'd learned from Mrs. Longbottom overcame him in his moment of stress. His spine lengthened, his hands were clasped behind his back, and his chin was up. However, he couldn't quite meet either of their gazes, knowing how powerless he was to their Legilimency. "Good afternoon, professors."

"Good afternoon, Harry. Have a seat." Both adults were behind the desk, but only the headmaster was seated. The circular office looked as it normally did with delicate silver instruments puffing and whirring, portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses dozing in their frames, and Fawkes perching on the stand on the right side of Dumbledore. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls of one section of the room where the Sorting Hat slept.

Harry stepped forward and sat, doing his best to ignore the crawling sensation of Snape's eyes on him.

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," Harry said, sounding far more confident than he felt.

"You know why you are here, but I want to ask you a few questions before we get started."

"Started, sir?"

"Yes," the headmaster said without explaining what he meant. He peered over his half-moon spectacles and pushed the singed piece of paper that had come out of the Goblet of Fire across the table towards Harry. "Did you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

Harry's eyes flicked towards the scrap. "No, sir."

From his place beside Dumbledore, Snape didn't make a sound, though he was looking quite malevolent

"Did you ask an older student to put it into the Goblet of Fire?"

"No, sir."

Snape scoffed. "You have been _crossing lines_ ever since you arrived at Hogwarts. Drop the innocent act. You and I know that a simple Age Line would not stop you. Otherwise, you wouldn't bother averting your eyes from the headmaster."

Harry stared at the floor.

"Would you say this is your handwriting, Harry?" The headmaster asked gently, carefully pointing a finger towards the bit of paper.

"Yes, but it's old and on Muggle paper. I haven't used a ballpoint pen since primary school." Harry forced his face to retain calmness and looked into the awaiting kind, blue eyes. "To the best of my knowledge, I didn't put that in."

The greasy-haired git's posture was screaming smugness by Harry's pronouncement, but Harry maintained eye contact with the more important wizard in the room. There was hardly any impression of the headmaster's Legilimency when it came, so gentle it was. After several tense moments, Professor Dumbledore nodded. "Severus, go fetch Professor Moody and Miss Davis."

The Potions Master visibly startled as if he was not expecting that command. "Headmaster, you very well saw the slip of parchment he placed into it and the spell he used to bypass the Age Line—!"

"I didn't—" Harry started, but stopped at the sight of a second slip of paper with Harry's inked name held up by the headmaster's fingers.

"Which are the results of an enterprising student, Severus." The bit of parchment was placed beside the torn Muggle paper. "Alas, Harry was not chosen from the pool of Hogwarts students. And this matter of a fourth champion was too clever for our Harry by half. Now, I have asked what I needed from you."

While Harry was struck speechless by the appearance of the second slip, Snape exited in a furious manner through the very door which Harry had used. What did that mean? Harry's brain was in knots at the sight of them sitting side by side. He'd entered _himself_?

"Now that that matter is settled…" The headmaster had already left his seat and was standing beside a tall cabinet of glass vials while Harry was still trying to figure out something to say. "We move to your use of the Unforgivables."

Harry stood uneasily, making his way slowly after the headmaster. From beneath the cabinetry a large stone basin slid out much like the baptismal Harry had seen before. There were odd markings all along the rim.

"You look worried."

"It would help if I knew what we were doing, sir." Harry needed to know what to expect.

Professor Dumbledore brushed his fingertips across the rim. "This is a Pensieve, Harry. A magical device which allows wizards and witches alike to revisit memories, either their own or those of others." The headmaster took out a pale white wand and pressed it to his temple. "And this… is a memory." He flicked it off his wand above the Pensieve, and it floated gently into the liquid in the bowl. Once it touched, the liquid let off a light and a quick succession of images flashed through quicker than Harry could follow.

"Once we are done, it's simply a matter of taking it up and placing it back." The headmaster poked his wand into the bowl and the thick, white strand of ectoplasm-like substance anchored to it. It slid back into his head without any sign of discomfort.

"You want my memories of the lessons of Unforgivables with Professor Moody?"

The headmaster smiled. "Yes. The whole lesson isn't required, just the pieces we need to see. Do I have your permission to extract and view them, Harry?"

"There's a law on extracting memories from minors without express permission from their guardian, professor."

Unexpectedly, the smile deepened. The old wizard raised a hand and a paper was summoned forth from his desk. "Augusta sent a notarized document giving permission in this morning's post."

The parchment was very thick. There was an upraised emblem at the bottom, a fist holding a wand of the Wizarding notary she used. Her signature lay next to the official wax seal of the Longbottoms, which was a wizard holding a book, engraved with a protection rune, and riding a tortoise. "What would happen if I refuse?"

"You would be given into the custody of Hit Wizards. Due to the binding magical contract, you wouldn't be permitted to leave until the tournament was over, but after you would be placed in Azakaban to await trial. And regrettably, the unlawful use of Unforgivables, even on animals, is treated quite severely. You would be imprisoned for at least six months."

Harry shuddered inwardly. "Then yes, you have my permission."

"Concentrate then on your memories of the Unforgivables." When Harry frowned up at the elderly wizard, Professor Dumbledore said, "It helps to close your eyes."

"Right." Harry's eyelids closed, and he thought of those moments.

There was a soft tap against his temple and then the memories became more distant, as if they were years older. Harry looked down at the shallow basin as light flashed up. The contents shimmered and swirled.

"Now, lean into the basin and the Pensieve will do the rest."

Harry gripped the rim, recognizing the heads of his housemates in the liquid. The very moment that the tip of Harry's nose touched the strange substance the world pitched around him. Harry was thrown headfirst into the bowl, which looked much too shallow to contain him. He fell through something icy-cold and black; it was like being sucked into a dark whirlpool and reminded him of falling into Tom Riddle's journal a most unnerving sensation—

Quite suddenly, Harry found that he was standing next to himself. His doppelganger looked bored as Professor Moody spoke about the Imperius Curse. And then Professor Dumbledore was standing beside him.

"—To _really_ understand the Imperius Curse though requires a more _practical_ approach."

Ten containers holding giant cave spiders floated to their desks. Professor Dumbledore was frowning as he looked around the classroom, which was murkier than Harry remembered.

"You only need to point your wand at your target and say '_Imperio!_'"

A chorus of voices rose, but Harry realized that very few sounded like children. He looked around and noticed that the memory was largely blank beyond Harry, his desk, and the very normal-sized spider on his desk. Harry very quietly poked his wand towards the small, unrestricted spider and whispered the incantation once. The spider immediately scampered forward and then backward in a very unnatural way for it. Then the look of concentration on Harry's face faded, and he continued muttering the spell under his breath without any willpower behind it. Eventually the common house spider jumped from the edge of his desk, fleeing from his incessant prodding. His doppelganger continued to prod and mutter at empty space. The memory dispersed to the next class period where they were given the same activity, but Harry chose to leave his desk and mill around, completely ignoring the chorus of '_Imperio_!'

Then came the lesson on the Torture Curse. "You have to really _mean it _or else it won't work," Professor Moody said with his gruff tone.

Unlike the first time, there were no containers of spiders sent to each of the tables, but Harry saw that his doppelganger had found another harmless spider. Harry knew he'd thought of all the times he'd been bitten by spiders in the cupboard under the stairs to properly cast the spell. The little spider stiffened for a briefer moment than Harry remembered without the screaming before his doppelganger ended the curse. There were more voices than last time casting and none of them were children. After that, his doppelganger didn't try to cast it again and the trembling spider escaped. The memory faded and a repeat of the lesson occurred. Harry watched himself leave his desk as he looked out the window with a blank look on his face, the faint voices ignored again.

And then he was tumbling backwards out of the basin. He weaved a bit before he caught his balance. That was very strange.

"Thank you, Harry. May I keep them?"

"If you want." He certainly preferred the unpleasant memories blunted.

The memory hung limply from the tip of Professor Dumbledore's wand and was carefully placed into an empty vial. Just as he finished labeling it, a voice called from the normal entrance to his office.

"What's all this about, professor?" Moody was standing patiently with Snape and Tracey.

"Alastor, I need to borrow the memories of your first lessons with the fourth-year Slytherins to the end of September." The headmaster looked gravely to Harry's housemate. "And yours as well, Miss Davis."

The DADA Professor stumped forward flinging his memory into the basin. "Together then?"

"After you," said Professor Dumbledore.

The grizzly-haired professor dunked his head forward and then so did the headmaster. The both of them remained where they were though Harry thought it was strange how they could remain upright when their bodies looked so relaxed.

Waiting patiently, Tracey had a thick strand of memory hanging from her wand. He wondered why her parents had given permission in anticipation for someone to view her memories. "What's this about, Harry?"

"I think the professor might be comparing them…"

"Yes, but _why_." She glanced at Professor Snape, but he gave no indication of his mood.

"Well," Harry felt awkward standing there. "Because of something I did."

The git snorted. "Not going to _brag_?"

"Why would I brag about something like that?" Harry nearly shouted, hands fisting in his robes. When no response was forthcoming, Harry was able to calm back down, but didn't look at either of them.

"Harry… what did you do?" Tracey's voice was tight as if she might be frightened.

"I cast some Unforgivables." She let out a small gasp and Harry looked to see that she had taken a step back to have Snape between the both of them. "I didn't do it for _fun_. Moody taught it to us. You saw."

Snape tsked loudly. "Potter, you're deranged if you believe anyone will fall for that pathetic excuse."

"It's not an excuse!" Harry stepped closer. "Tracey, you cast it too. We all did."

The blond stepped back to stay mostly obscured behind the git, who glowered down at Harry. "I will have you petrified, Potter, if you don't step away. You've done more than enough damage to your case," Snape said, his teeth bared in an unfriendly manner.

A flash of understanding cut into Harry then. Tracey was hiding behind Snape; she was _scared_ of him, of Harry. He immediately backpedaled, turning away towards the eerie sight of two adults with their heads next to each other in the shallow basin.

Seconds later, both adults straightened and stepped back from the Pensieve. While Moody was placing the memory back where it belonged, Tracey was gestured forward. Giving more space around Harry than he thought was necessary, she hurried by to drop her memory in. "You may view it, headmaster, but I'd rather not join you."

Professor Dumbledore nodded and went to the basin once more.

"What nonsense have you gotten up to, Potter?" The magical eye was watching Harry more than it was whirling around.

Before Harry could answer, Snape said, "Potter accused you of not merely instructing methods against the Unforgivables, but of _teaching _them to his class."

The wizard tossed his head back as he laughed boisterously. "_Me_? Teach Unforgivables? Hah! Wouldn't dream of helping Voldemort train up an army! And with boys as young as Potter? Old Dark Breath would sooner spit on them than use them!"

"Indeed." Snape did not look amused. His dark eyes settled on Harry, who was very confused by the turn in events. This was not how it was supposed to turn out. Had everyone lost their minds? "And…I'm afraid we discovered who cursed the chalk."

Having returned to Snape's side, Tracey made a surprised noise.

Not about to let her think badly of him, Harry said, "But I didn't—"

"_Him_?" Moody slammed his walking stick against the ground and leaned on it, peering straight into Harry's eyes. "Color me surprised. Didn't think James and Lily's son had it in him to be _Dark_."

Anger flared into being and lips pulled back from Harry's teeth. "Then why else would you rifle through my old Muggle things and put my name in the Goblet of Fire, if you didn't think I did it?"

"Have _any_ evidence for that wild accusation, Potter?"

Moody lifted a hand to forestall Snape's mocking derision. "The boy has a right to be paranoid. Anyone would be after being locked into a magical contract against their will." Licking his upper lip, the DADA professor grinned. "Look here, Potter. If I had done this, I wouldn't have allowed _two_ champions from Hogwarts; too conspicuous, you see." Professor Moody's eye went to whirring and spinning around. "Whoever's hoodwinked the Goblet of Fire overdid the Confundus Charm they used. Thought it'd be smart to make the powerful magical object forget that there were three schools competing in the tournament, to make you the only one of an unnamed fourth school. But all it's done is make doubly sure that we know there's been foul play, see? The Ministry is sending a contingent of Aurors for the Tasks, but don't let that lull you into a false sense of security. CONSTANT VIGILANCE will save your life one day."

Harry remembered Slytherin's words about Lady Ravenclaw's foresight to allow more than three schools to take part in the tradition, but this… this had twisted her work. Harry's eyes flicked up towards the portrait. The only one awake was Salazar Slytherin's, who nodded at him. Snape silently remained where he was, eyes flicking between Harry and Professor Moody. Tracey didn't look as if she had listened to their conversation at all, appearing to resist touching the silver instruments on the shelf beside her.

Finally, Dumbledore moved away from the basin. "Thank you, Miss Davis. Your help has been greatly appreciated."

Jumping at the chance to leave, Tracey scooped the memory up with her wand and exited out of the headmaster's office without a look back at Harry. He knew hoping she wouldn't say anything about the cursed chalk was ridiculous. He had to fight the accusations once again. Once Draco caught wind of it, he'd be insufferable. The creak of the chair alerted Harry to the headmaster taking a seat once again. "Harry, you've been under a lot of stress lately—"

"I'm not making it up. You saw my memories. That's how it happened."

Moody barked out a laugh before he managed to stop, while Snape pinched his nose as if he found Harry unbearably dumb.

The headmaster gave Harry a pitying look. "Have you been taking anything to settle your nerves lately?"

Harry stared at the old wizard, barely glancing at either of the professors. A horrid idea percolated into his mind. "It didn't…" He took a breath. "If it didn't happen the way I remembered it... Does this mean I was Confunded?" Panic welled into him. When had someone had a chance to?

"No. Your memories weren't tampered with. They showed instead an altered state of mind, which suggests that you either ingested psychotropics—"

"What are those?"

"Do not interrupt the headmaster again, Potter, or—"

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said with steel in his tone and the Potions Master merely glowered. "Muggles would call them illegal drugs."

Harry scratched his ear. "If I had taken any drugs, it would have been unknowingly."

"Which leaves Bewitchment, like I thought," Professor Moody said gruffly towards Dumbledore. "He was acting strangely during a few lessons, but I didn't see any active spells on him." He rolled his magical eye towards Snape.

"Might be a Concoction of Bewitchment," Snape provided reluctantly. When the tense words left him so too did most of the bitter tension from his face. "Do you have assigned seating?"

"No, but Potter is a creature of habit. He sits in the back row closest to the door. Someone must've noticed and decided to take advantage."

"If I might go investigate, headmaster?" Snape looked to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded. The Potions Master scurried out without another word. For some reason, the Potions Master seemed almost _eager_…

"If we're done here, I have a class of first years who don't know the difference between a Horklump and a Nogtail."

"Thank you, Alastor. You may go." Professor Dumbledore said.

A short nod, the grimacing wizard stumped out.

Threading his hands together, blue eyes peered curiously at Harry. "I'm afraid I have a few more questions for you."

Harry remained standing, clasping his hands behind him.

"Do you consider yourself a Dark Lord?"

"You're joking. Me?"

The steel hardened in Dumbledore's eyes. "I'm unfortunately quite serious, Harry."

"No, I don't."

"Do you desire to hold the title?"

Harry flung his hands forward explosively. "You can't _really_ be asking me that with a straight face!"

"Harry. I must insist on an answer."

"No, I don't want to be one, _sir_," Harry grit through his teeth. "A Dark Lord murdered my parents and loads of other people. Why would I _want_ to be one?"

"Not every Dark Lord begins on that path at the start. Some strayed and became ensnared in an ever-widening pool of darkness," Professor Dumbledore said quite neutrally.

"Then I won't stray," Harry said sharply. "I'd rather die than turn Dark." The silence from the headmaster was chilling to Harry. The Slytherin quickly looked at the floor. Did the adult already suspect what Harry's affliction of visions were caused by? It wouldn't be surprising if he had his suspicions. Professor Dumbledore had struck down the mighty Grindelwald before the turn of the century. He had to be a bloody powerful wizard to do that to an overly ambitious Dark Lord of Grindelwald's genius.

The headmaster breathed out, dropping his hands onto the desk. "I had not realized what lengths Alastor would go to test your resolve, and for that I am truly sorry," the old wizard said wearily.

Totally thrown, Harry frowned. "Come again?"

"Only four other students in the entirety of Hogwarts managed to throw it off thrice. You did so four times, a commendable show of willpower against blind compliance.."

"Should I have not? Should I have let him? If it was a test, then…" It would have been better if Harry had not shown that he could resist the Imperius Curse so well.

"Heavens no, Harry. I did not ask Alastor to make a trial of an Unforgivable. He improvised the orders from the Ministry and myself, deciding on his own to demonstrate exactly how awful and terrifying that curse is."

Harry felt a bit of pity for the headmaster who had so obviously put his trust and faith into a close friend. "Shouldn't you fire him then?"

"If I do so, then the Ministry will instate their own professor, who might be even crueler. I cannot allow that while we have international dignitaries in our midst." Professor Dumbledore searched Harry's face. "However, what Alastor has done to you is inexcusable. It is therefore quite understandable to want to get even with him—"

"_Get even_?" Harry said through gritted teeth. "He tried to throw me out the window! There's nothing I could do to him that's equal to an Unforgivable!" _Besides, an Unforgivable_, Harry thought.

"Yes, and because of this you will be given the option of taking an Independent Study of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I cannot with good conscience place you back into Alastor's classroom." The headmaster looked ever more drained, appearing both disappointed and disheartened. "I will look past your retaliatory Knockback Jinx this time. However, the cursed chalk incident was potentially lethal, Harry, and is deserving of punishment."

With what proof? Harry wanted to say as his mouth went dry. "But I…" His voice cracked. "I didn't curse the chalk."

Professor Dumbledore gathered up Harry's holly wand with his hands, which Snape must have left behind. He looked over it as if it might divulge secrets to him. "…You were seen, in the middle of the night that Thursday before the unfortunate attack occurred, by Lord Slytherin. I say _seen_, but in actuality he heard you. You were wearing your father's Invisibility Cloak to sneak out of Lord Slytherin's Personal Study to deliver the cursed chalk to the third floor Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom."

"But…" Harry rubbed his scar. "I was deeply asleep that night. I didn't—" A flicker of something came to him. An obscenely long incantation. The careful placement of the chalk on the runner beneath the blackboard. The whisper of the Invisibility Cloak shrouding him. Staring at the carved decorations of the headmaster's oak desk, Harry drew his fingers away from his forehead when he realized what must have happened. Shame filled him, even if there was nothing he could have done to prevent it. "…I did it." _In my sleep_, Harry left out. _The soul-shard did it to exact vengeance. It must have also entered my name into the Triwizard Tournament…_

'_He is** my **prey**!'**_

Professor Dumbledore nodded sadly. "Do you feel regret for your actions?"

"…Yes, sir…" Harry's hands clenched against his knees, his eyes firmly on the floor. "I'll write an apology to Professor Moody." _Even if I hate him,_ Harry thought.

"See that you do." This seemed to cheer up Professor Dumbledore a little. "I will give you more time to think about the independent—"

"I've made up my mind. I'd like to take your offer, professor, but who would be teaching me? Professor Snape has a class at that time."

"Likely a seventh year who doesn't plan to sit for the Potions N.E.W.T.…" The headmaster was in deep thought now.

That cleared out everyone in Slytherin and likely most of the Ravenclaws and more than a few Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors. It was required to have an Acceptable on the Potions N.E.W.T. to be considered for a position as an Auror, Healer, or anything else that may deal with the Dark Arts at some point in time. "Bother."

"Don't fret. Someone will tutor you."

"Could you at least pick someone who would make bearable company? Maybe bring back Lupin?" Harry brightened at the thought. The werewolf had his Marauder's Map. If Harry could get that back…

"I cannot invite him into Hogwarts, Harry. As a registered werewolf he's not allowed within five hundred feet of the grounds."

"You could set the lessons in Hogsmeade then!"

"Remus is at present indisposed." The headmaster shook his head, and Harry's excitement deflated like a popped balloon. "Please trust that I will find someone acceptable." He offered Harry's wand to him.

Carefully taking it from him to holster it, Harry was doing his best not to glower at the elderly wizard. "Then what about my Invisibility Cloak?"

Dumbledore lifted a green pouch into view. "I am afraid that you will have to earn back the privilege of possessing it."

Harry opened his mouth to complain, but saw the deathly serious look from the headmaster. "When will that happen?"

"When you are better equipped for it."

There was a sudden flare of green fire, causing Harry to spin on a heel to aim his wand at the…letter which had fluttered out of the fireplace. "Ah! Harry, you'll want to know about this." The headmaster with a quick flick of his hand summoned it to him, and then sliced open the side of the abnormally white envelope with a letter opener. He unfolded the bleached-white copy paper and read. At the sight of it, Harry's first thought was _Muggle business_, but what did Harry want with Muggles? He hadn't interacted with Muggles since he'd stopped living with Snape. "Wonderful! This should allay Igor's and Madam Maxine's concerns."

"What is it, sir?"

The twinkle in Professor Dumbledore's eyes was entirely too mischievous. "You are officially dual-enrolled with the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Witchery. Once the U.S. Department of Magical Resources approves the participation of the Salem Institute in the Quadwizard Tournament, then you will compete on their behalf. Severus will give you the long-distance learning packets once they arrive."

Harry was at a loss for words. "I'm not a witch."

"The name is quite deceptive. It was established as a school only for witches, but they've accepted wizards since 1977. Their funding from the Muggle end of their government necessitated that they comply with something called Title IX. Because the Salem Institute's reputation is well-known, they chose not to change their name."

'Why' kept pounding through Harry's mind, until he rolled over the bits of information Moody and the headmaster had shared. "Durmstrang and Beauxbatons wanted out because of Hogwarts' unfair advantage with two champions."

The headmaster smiled. "Very good, Harry. They would have been forced to compete because of the magical contract, but at the loss of any such tournaments taking place again and with it, the possibility of future international cooperation."

"Why a school from North America? Surely there's one that's closer."

"I sent a letter out to many schools, Harry, but as suspected, they balked at a foreigner representing their establishment."

"They couldn't have been very impressed by me."

The old wizard's body seemed to sag. "It's perfectly rational to refuse to help in a matter of international importance. The risks associated mean that they might take blame later for sanctioning an accidental champion's involvement and their prestigious reputation may be lessened or, more reasonably, you represent Hogwarts' curriculum and not their own. Even if you won, it would not be a true reflection of their school." His warm smile came to being once more. "Thankfully, my recent chance meeting with the Principal of the Salem Institute at an international convention of educators and administrators last summer helped immensely. I had feared Principal Oke would refuse."

"Sir, how did they respond so quickly? It's only been a day."

"Express International Post makes judicious use of Floo traveling, Apparation, and Muggle Technology to hop the pond between continents. Principal Oke was guaranteed to receive my letter within twelve hours of my sending it, as did the other head administrators of other educational establishments. Naturally it was only good manners to pay postage for a hasty response." A clock chimed and the elderly wizard clapped his hands together. "Ah! It's nearly time for our evening meal. You should make yourself presentable."

"Yes, sir…" Harry was brought up short when the fireplace suddenly flamed green. Professor Dumbledore had raised himself up, approaching the sooty figure for a friendly handshake.

"Right on schedule, Ms. Oke."

A soft ringing sound echoed from her fingers, and the soot disappeared, revealing a Muggle's pinstriped suit, medium length black hair that was spiked in odd curves away from her forehead, and bright red heels that made a sharp noise against the stone when she stepped out of the fireplace. The American witch did not appear to be wearing make-up. "Of course." She stated, lacking the thick twang Harry had expected from someone from the States. She shook the headmaster's hand firmly, once. "Is this your school's current character-builder?"

Her grass green eyes focused upon Harry, not even flicking up to look at his scar. Harry did not feel threatened nor did he feel that she was sizing him up, but Harry wasn't precisely sure what she'd meant by 'character builder'.

Professor Dumbledore moved aside placing a light hand on Harry's shoulder. "Oh, not at all. As I've written earlier, Harry is an exemplary student, particularly in Charms and Potions. It is simply that trouble has a way of finding him."

"Of course, my mistake." She stated with an amused, knowing flicker, to the old headmaster. She held out a hand to Harry. "Hello, Harry. Or should I refer to you as 'Potter'? I'm not exactly familiar with social conventions across the Atlantic."

He shook her hand, noticing that they were calloused despite their deceptive daintiness. Several plain bands of silver adorned her fingers, possibly what had caused the ringing noise from earlier. "I prefer Potter, until I get to know you better, Ms. Oke."

"Very well then, Potter. Seems as if this is a yearly event for you," she observed with a raised eyebrow.

"Not everyone has the chance to live with a Dark Lord's grudge." Harry looked between the headmaster, who was content to remain silent, and the principal. "Thank you for allowing me to represent your school on such short notice."

Dropping a hand to the pocket of her slim slacks, Principal Oke made a humming noise. "It's my pleasure. Our Magical community isn't taken very seriously since it was only established give or take five centuries, and we don't make any effort to have a government separate from the Muggles—well, ever since that major coup totally shattered the Central Coven during the period of Western Expansion, there didn't seem to be a point at keeping things apart, and we can react quicker to disasters if we're fully enmeshed with the Muggle government." Ms. Oke took a glance about the headmaster's office, not the slightest out of breath. "So! This is a good opportunity for us to set roots down in the Old World. I'm sure you'll do well." She looked at the paintings, eyes sharp with interest. "Say, do I get to meet your R.A.?"

"R.A.?" Harry asked.

"The person in charge of your dormitory."

"You mean, Professor Snape?"

A shark-like grin settled onto her features. It didn't look very friendly. "Yes."

"You'll be able to meet him during dinner tonight, Ms. Oke. Since you've found Harry satisfactory, I must insist that he hurry along to get ready for the feast tonight." Professor Dumbledore smiled at her, back to his cheerful self.

"Don't stay on my account," the witch said, flicking her fingers dismissively.

"Right," Harry said, "Do you think it'd be alright if I left that way, professor?" He pointed to the door leading to Snape's office.

The headmaster turned a bit to meet Salazar Slytherin's gaze, and the painting immediately left his frame. "That should be acceptable," he murmured and then turned towards the principal. "Professor McGonagall would be more than happy to provide a short tour of Hogwarts before dinner is served in the Great Hall."

"Awesome. Can't wait to see the place."

As the two adults made small talk, Harry pulled on the old-fashioned latch and the door swung open. He closed it behind him and waited for his eyes to adjust to the ghostly dim light before he made his way down the musty well-like stairwell. At the bottom, there was no sign of a door. He whispered, "_Open_." but nothing happened. Just as he was feeling over the wall for any sign of a seam, the wall cracked open, sliding forth a few inches before swinging away from Harry. Head Boy Wynch looked down at him and then left the closet lined with shelves of rolled parchments. Following the head boy, Harry saw that Snape was already at his desk grading a satchel of vials.

"Until the tournament is over, you are to be the standard that all other Slytherins ascribe to, Potter. Fail to do so and you will find your three month-long period of detention—beginning tonight—so mind-numbingly boring that you'll wish someone had cast a Stinging Hex on you to keep your thoughts occupied."

"Yes, sir," Harry muttered. Without looking back, he exited the office and headed into the common room, which had become an explosion of frenzied movement. Stunned, he watched everything with a bit of helpless awe.

"The Grey Grace is ba—"

"Dunghead, what have I told you about that title," Draco's acerbic voice cut across the common room. Most everyone had a moment where they stopped to listen and continued when they weren't being addressed. "There's nothing the least bit _Grey _about Harry. Stop your nonsense before I dunk your head in gravy."

"Harry, Goyle's pulled out your dress robes and made them fit to be seen," Sally-Anne said to his left, startling him when she seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "There's been a mad rush to get everything ready since there's only been one Champion Introduction in the history of the tournament. The same three schools have competed over and over again since its inception a millennia ago. There'll be a table set up for you, so you can sit by the Principal of the Salem Institute." Now she leaned in a bit more furtively among the noise and rush of the common room, her tone sharp and biting, "Mind your hands, and for the love of Godric, order water, not Pumpkin Juice, and maybe you won't embarrass yourself."

Harry nodded, trying to absorb the strange advice. "Keep elbows tucked in. Drink water tonight. I can remember that."

Sally-Anne nodded brusquely. "Now head upstairs before Draco decides he ought to leave the command post to help you."

Taking the steps two at a time, Harry hastily made it to the fourth door, which was slightly ajar. Inside he saw a hovering pair of black silk, pinstriped dress robes with the sigil of the Slytherin house patched to the front right breast of it. A black badge, rimmed with bright green, had white, stylized letters—SI—embroidered into it and was patched onto the left front pocket. Harry shoved the door open, causing Goyle to stutter. "The robes—your robes—"

"Those aren't mine." After a quick check through his wardrobe turned up nothing, Harry tapped the unlocking sequence on his trunk and tore the lid open, digging through it. With an irritated slam of the lid, he turned a sour look at Goyle. "What's Draco done with my dress robes?"

"He's adjusted them," came the mutter. "Said you'd embarrass yourself if you didn't wear the proper—"

"Bloody prat," Harry growled resentfully. "Yeah, my robes were too warm, but a Cooling Charm fixed that. I _liked_ them." He slipped off his Spellfast Cloak and hung it up in the wardrobe, thinking it would be tasteless to wear it at an official dinner with international importance. Drawing his wand, Harry Switched his school robes for the floating ones. He looked down at himself. A white pleated handkerchief was artfully arranged in the only front pocket of the robes. The sleeves fit more like a Muggle suit than the loose ones he was more used to, making the robes fit on him more like a tailored silk jacket. Beneath it was a cotton white, long-sleeved button-down shirt, overlaid with a black vest and green tie pinstriped with silver. What he'd assumed were slacks was actually a pair of dark grey denim trousers. His beat-up stained and off-white trainers stuck out like an eyesore at the bottom. With the image of what he wanted firmly in mind, he tapped the heel of each one, transfiguring them into sleek black dress shoes. Holstering his wand, he looked at himself in the mirror across the room before turning to his roommate.

All that was left was a strange hat in Goyle's fidgeting hands. "What is that?"

"Milly called it a fedora. It's somethin' American Muggles like to wear. Said you can't wear it while you eat or when you're paying respects to someone." He offered the wide-brimmed hat to Harry. "Boss said to burn it, but I thought you might like it."

Harry took it. It had an indent at the top where the middle fingers could rest to hold it. He set it on his head and dropped his hands at his sides. There were long side-slits in the robes so that he could tuck his hands into his trousers if he wanted. "How silly do I look?"

"Only a bit."

"How steamed do you think Draco will get?"

"Very."

"Good." Harry left the room. When he stepped into the common room, he was still getting used to the unfamiliar lightness of what was likely the Salem Institute's standard-issue school robes. It was much more constrictive than he was used to, pulling in ways that the Hogwarts robes didn't.

Out of the frenzy of activity came a sharp, loud whistle. Harry narrowed his eyes at a group of sixth year witches, who'd gotten the most distracted by his entrance. The others seemed to be more furtive with their goggling. He didn't know where Sally-Anne had gotten off to.

"I told Goyle to set that monstrosity aflame. Tsk. I knew I should've had Crabbe do it instead." Draco adjusted Harry's shirt collar and tie and then brushed down the shoulders of Harry's robes. Stepping back, he nodded as if the uniform passed his inspection. "It's adequate. Black is a good color on you. _Scourgify._" Harry's scuff-ed up dress shoes became shiny. "Now, if you could lose the hat…"

"No."

Draco looked as if he'd swallowed a bug. "If you're going to have that on your head, then you might as well wear it right." He pinched the brim as if it were a diseased carcass and drew it down slightly at an angle over Harry's right brow. "There."

"Dinner's in half an hour. His Grace should go now, sir," said a squeaky first year.

"You heard her. Mustn't keep them waiting."

With a finger, Harry pushed the brim up so he could better see and nearly laughed at Draco's annoyed expression.

"Crabbe, Goyle. Be sure our champion has a proper escort."

Turning on his heel, Harry left with a casual wave goodbye with hardly a look at either of his 'escorts'.


	9. The Notorious Rita Skeeter

_**Author's Notes: **I don't like posting subpar work so I held onto this a bit longer until I smoothed the wrinkles out. Also, I didn't cut this into two pieces like I normally would have.  
_

* * *

When Harry arrived in the Entrance Hall, Principal Oke was waiting for him. She turned away from the house elf, which disappeared with a snap, and greeted him with a smile. "You look good," she said.

"Thank you, Ms. Oke." When she stood there looking like she hadn't a care in the world, Harry queried, "Is there something you wished to say?"

"You know, Mr. Dumbledore is a really sweet guy, but he's not the best primary source." Ms. Oke's tone wasn't nearly as condescending as certain other adults Harry had met, but she did have the air of demand about her. She crossed her arms and gave Harry a firm look. "He didn't say why you had the crazy idea that you were being haunted by a dead Dark Lord."

"His spirit is able to possess people. That's how he almost killed me three years ago."

"Weird," she said, her black lacquered nails tapping along her arms. "You would think that would make national news. Hm."

For a moment, Harry didn't know what to say. "I was a bit laid up at the time to care. Wizarding Britain was more concerned about which relative would adopt me." He knew they would be late to their own special feast by the number of latecomers, mostly Slytherins, who were slipping into the Great Hall, but when Harry made a move to enter, the adult moved with him. He shot a bemused look at her. "We ought not to be late, Ms. Oke."

"Every guest school gets a flashy entrance," the witch said with a grin. "Do you know any gymnastics?"

The memories where the twenty Beauxbatons students and twenty Durmstrang students paraded into the Great Hall came to Harry's mind. With only himself, Salem Institute's entrance was going to look pathetically bad in comparison. "No, and I don't know any special tricks. Well…" That wasn't quite true. "I doubt you would want your school to be connected to a Parselmouth since the last eight became Dark Lords."

Ms. Oke's eyes fluttered in surprise. "I sure lucked out. You're a snake-talker, wow!"

He had not expected her reaction and shifted uncomfortably as she looked him over with new eyes. The sound of the heavy double doors opening to a silent Great Hall caused Harry to take a great swallow of air. He opened and closed his hands several times. He glanced up at the principal.

"Do our school proud, Mr. Champion."

Pushed gently forward, Harry slipped into the regal swagger of a Longbottom like a second skin. Eyes were on him, the breath of a hundred classmates and visitors held in expectant awe. Ahead of him, the staff table had been curved like the shaft of a bow, and before that was a shorter table shaped like a horseshoe which had replaced the Goblet of Fire. The smells of dinner were overpowering, causing Harry's stomach to ache in expectation. The tables were bare except for the dishware and cutlery.

The Hogwarts House banners, once lining the walls, had been taken down and replaced with grey, black, red, or powder blue swaths of fabric. Behind the staff table, there were four main banners, each representing a different school. The Hogwarts banner, displaying all four houses behind an H, was between the Durmstrang one, which had a black, two-headed eagle on a red background, and the Beauxbatons powder blue one with the golden crossed wands and stars. To the far right, a new banner had joined the others; on a black background, there was a Star Rune of Protection in white with two sheaves of golden wheat on either side of it, altogether forming a clever rune for safe lodging.

A few steps into the Great Hall, there came a shuffling behind Harry. Fingers snapped with each step he took. Puzzled, Harry stopped and took a look back; all noise ceased. The faces of his sixth and seventh year housemates stared back from their frozen positions, some with anxious gazes but the rest were defiant. They were still in Hogwarts robes, except the black color had been replaced with the same pinstriped design which adorned Harry's jacket.

The other students looked rather taken in by the sporadic procession, breath held in anticipation.

Realizing he was disrupting the 'flashy entrance' by the amused smirk Ms. Oke shot at him between the shoulders of Warrington and Prefect Sykes, Harry set his jaw and spun on his foot, determined to make it to the table of champions and their accompanying administrators.

The snapping was back, but this time more frenetic and asymmetric to Harry's steps. At the sound of humming, Harry resisted the urge to pause and scowl at his classmates. Occasionally they enacted casual acrobatics across the stones or vaulted across the Hogwarts tables using unoccupied space on the benches to propel themselves. They had spread out across the Great Hall between the long tables, following at Harry's pace. It was bad enough that Harry was the center of attention; did they have to make him dull in comparison? Shrugging his shoulders up slightly, Harry tilted the funny hat down on his head to hide the embarrassed flush on his face and forced his feet forward at a blistering pace. The snapping was almost musical, speeding up to keep with his pace.

As he began to take the three steps to the Champion table, great bangs filled the air, lights flashing. Silver snakes decorated the ceiling; quick as lightning, the brood coalesced into the pattern of the Salem Institutes's insignia, the protective rune spinning like a wheel. Principal Oke pressed a hand against Harry's shoulder, directing him to the empty chair at the end of the horseshoe-like table where the other champions were seated. So he wouldn't be sitting next to Ms. Oke? Harry gratefully sank into it as the adult moved to her own place on the other end of the table. Beside Harry, the Beauxbatons champion looked a bit bored by the entrance as she fiddled with a golden goblet. Diggory and Delacour sat on opposite sides of the Durmstrang champion, who looked rather calm all things considered.

When the snakes exploded and sent sparks of light in all directions, a great crash of applause and screaming filled the air as the Slytherins took their seats. The leftover smoke hanging in the ceiling looked startlingly like a basilisk until a standing Professor Dumbledore cleared the air with a swipe of his wand.

"Eat, drink, and be merry! We have several exciting months ahead of us!" Professor Dumbledore announced to the crowd of expectant faces and then re-took his seat beside Diggory right as food appeared before them. "Madam Maxine, what a lovely scarf."

"It is woven with ze feathers of an Eldritch," the headmistress responded demurely, a large, beringed hand stroking the royal purple and blue feather boa. She'd worn a teal, sleeveless dress to complement it. Harry had never seen such large biceps on a woman before; they reminded him of the adverts for gym memberships on the telly. Madam Maxine sat between Ms. Oke and High Master Karkaroff.

"And Igor, have you trimmed your beard recently?"

"Why yes, Albus. It was growing too wild." The Dark wizard chuckled, eyes traveling over the headmaster's long and somewhat disheveled beard. Karkaroff seemed to genuinely like the headmaster, judging by the way he didn't seem to mind sitting by him.

The headmaster had a twinkle in his eye. With a smile, he offered Diggory a dried date from a dish that had appeared along with a large selection of foreign dishes. Harry took off the fedora and set it into his lap.

A plate of thick hamburgers was before Harry, while very French dishes appeared in front of Delacour. Harry would've been happier with fish and chips, but he couldn't complain when it was food he recognized. He placed a juicy hamburger onto his plate and forked salad onto the meat, covering it with the soft bun and mustard. Harry reached for his glass of pumpkin juice, before he remembered what Sally-Anne had said. Keeping his elbows tucked in, he frowned at the goblet until it emptied itself and refilled with clear liquid. The hamburger was better than others he'd had in the Muggle world.

Useless chitchat passed over his head. Krum said he was an only child, so did Diggory, who also added that his father worked at the British Ministry and that his mother crafted models of magical creatures for a hobby. Delacour in a tight-lipped manner spoke about her grandmother, mother, and little sister. Harry spoke very little about the Dursleys, opting to talk about Neville, Mrs. Longbottom, and Sirius Black.

"Sirius Black?" Diggory echoed oddly. "The deranged wizard who terrorized us last year? I didn't know he was your godfather."

"It's a matter of public record," Harry said stiffly. "And he's apologized to Ron Weasley about the incident in Gryffindor Tower." Whether his godfather had apologized to the Fat Lady or not was not an uncertainty Harry was willing to air.

"Good on him. I heard he's in negotiations to be detained somewhere other than Azkaban," Diggory said lightly, "I do the following trial absolves him of any crimes."

Harry hadn't read any newspapers since he left Longbottom Manor, and Draco hadn't bothered to inform him about his godfather. Harry's eyes met the headmaster's.

"Evidence has surfaced to prove his innocence beyond a doubt," Professor Dumbledore said with a nod.

"What was 'e charged with?" Delacour asked. She leaned towards Harry with keen interest, her wisps of blond hair swaying from the movement. Harry blinked at her a bit stupidly, before he realized that those who were infamous in one country might not be known elsewhere. If that were the case, why hadn't Sirius run off to a far-away country to hide?

"An unthinkable number of murders," Karkaroff muttered, tossing back his head as he drank the last of the amber fluid in his crystal decanter.

Before Delacour's pert lips could impart more questions, Madam Maxine swiped a hand gracefully across. "Zat is inappropriate for dinner conversation, Miss Delacour," she said rather loudly, and the part-veela witch pursed her lips into a frown and returned to the same ramrod posture.

The ex-Death Eater next to the headmaster shrugged, spearing a chunk of roast, and chomped onto it. Krum's dark eyes kept darting around the table as he listened avidly without speaking. This must be how he was while polite, Harry thought. The Durmstrang student had been quite boisterous among the Slytherins.

"S'why I like the criminal justice system we've got in America. Innocent before proven guilty." Ms. Oke toasted the air.

"Doesn't your country have a higher incarceration rate than Bulgaria?" Karkaroff said harshly.

"We actually catch our criminals," the principal snapped.

"Only the stupid ones."

"Ms. Oke, might I suggest you try the dried apricot?" The cool-headed headmaster gestured towards the large collection of dried fruit. "They're quite delectable."

Instead of responding to Karkaroff's barbed comment, a medallion-sized bit of fruit was plucked up, and Ms. Oke nibbled on it.

"Sir, I noticed you didn't talk about your family," Harry said. Karkaroff had spoken about his brother the merchant and nephew the Dragon Paternus, and Madam Maxine about the orphanage she was raised in, before Diggory had derailed the conversation to Harry's godfather.

Professor Dumbledore smiled. There was a flicker of something like regret, but it was so fleeting Harry wondered if he even saw it. "I have a surviving brother. Neither of us settled down to have children of our own I'm afraid." He turned to Ms. Oke. "You're the seventh of nine children, if I recall correctly."

"Yes, only one sister. Dad's the majority owner of a well-known Muggle corporation. Mom's a witch from an established magical family, the McIlwains. Firstborn's the only squib among us. He's set to inherit the family business."

"Eet must be difficult to 'ave eight siblings," Delacour said sympathetically.

"It wasn't a hardship at all. The mansion where I grew up was spacious and we each had an army of house-staff and tutors to keep us happy. Didn't even have to see each other if we didn't want to." The adult took another dried apricot from the bowl, ignoring the spread of desserts which had replaced their main course. Quite suddenly, two large metallic rings landed softly over a few spikes of her hair. Ms. Oke tilted her figure slightly to the side. A third boomeranged past her, missing its target to hit the base of Harry's goblet.

Harry's hand darted forward before he caught himself. Hand clenching uselessly, he watched as it sloshed over the tablecloth and towards Delacour, who did not react quick enough to avoid being drenched. Krum immediately choked on his drink and desperately beat his chest to clear it, while Diggory snuck glances at Delacour, who was getting attention from the closest seated students in the hall. Instead of looking through the sudden sheerness of Delacour's dress, Harry quickly spelled a Drying Charm on her before she had a chance to react. Then he picked up the strange ring that had caused the mess to inspect it.

"Zank 'oo. Eet is good zat 'oo drink water. Zis is my favorite dress," Delacour said, without a bit of embarrassment, while the two gaping champions tried to look everywhere but at her, which was odd since they had spent so much time staring at her chest moments ago. With a screeching noise of wood on stone, Krum angled his chair away from her and tucked himself under the table to the point that his abdomen was touching the edge. Diggory was rolling the goblet between his hands like he was working clay.

Leaning closer, she peered at the object in Harry's hand and then up at him curiously. "What is zat?"

"A Fanged Frisbee, I think. Modified to be hollow without fangs," Harry flipped it over a few times and then passed it over to her awaiting hands.

"You will apologize to our guests for your unthinkable rudeness!"

Harry's head snapped up. Professor McGonagall was positively livid. Harry had to wonder why the Weasley twins hadn't acted out sooner. They didn't seem the type to be bothered by a Howler, or three.

Having not bothered to remove the rings caught in the stiff, wicked curves styled in her hair, Ms. Oke stood. "Looks like that's my cue." With a grin of delight, the adult hopped down the steps and faced the twins who looked as if they might laugh at any moment at the sight of her.

"We're oh so sorry, Principal Oke," the twins caroused in a completely irreverent way and turned to their fellow students and visitors. "We're sorry friends, comrades, bosom buddies for disturbing the merrymaking of the feast."

Professor McGonagall's expression remained stiff and unamused. "That will do. Now—"

"Excuse me, professor." Ms. Oke raised a hand as if she might be missed. As soon as Professor McGonagall looked at her, she dropped it and smiled brightly. "Since I'm the one they directly disrespected, may I say something before you send them away?"

The deputy headmistress straightened where she stood. "By all means, Ms. Oke. It is the policy of this school to have the offenders punished by those they have wronged."

"Thank you."

Murmuring from the students erupted as they turned to one another, guessing at what the principal would do. The witch smiled, and her fingers clicked together, letting out a chime from the silver rings. Her fingers nimbly traced out runic patterns too quickly for Harry to see. "So. You must be Hogwarts' character builders." The two rings from her hair lifted and floated by each of her upraised hands, turning slowly end over end.

"Character builders?" The twins echoed.

"We do build character, don't we George?"

"Oh, we do!"

Another chime and the rings came apart. They thinned and lengthened into something looking quite like belts except much shorter and then swiftly settled around their necks like dog collars. Upon these collars ringing their throats was written, **Property of Hogwarts_._** "There we go," Ms. Oke said to herself clapping her hands in a way that her fingers met with her palms. "It's a good look for you."

"What is this?" Fred looked more dismayed than his twin who looked amused and thoughtful. "What's your game?"

"No game," the adult said raising her hands in a gesture of 'I mean not harm'. Several students giggled.

"Oh dear, Fred. She means business."

Harry snickered. The other champions were quiet. Karkaroff was muttering about the unprofessionalism of what he was seeing, while Professor McGonagall didn't look very pleased with Ms. Oke's method of punishment.

"Deal with it," came the adult's flat reply, "Those stay on until you apologize correctly."

The twins blinked at her and then turned impish grins upon each other. "George, I think I learned something new about her."

"You're right, Fred."

They stepped closer and sang out, "You're a pervert!"

Professor McGonagall gaped; her face was coloring, her lips thinning. Worse yet, Ms. Oke's smiling expression never faltered, even as Madam Maxine complained about their " 'orrible manners". Into the stunned silence of the Great Hall came, "Oh please Princess Oke, we are ever so sorry for saying such a thing! We'd wash our mouths out if we thought it'd help!"

An incredulous twin turned to Fred.

"I didn't say that!" Fred jerked a pointed finger towards him. "You did!"

"Did not. I would never say that. Those Yanks don't have royalty."

"Leave it to a Yank," George's collar announced. "They're bloody brilliant."

The twins stopped and stared at each other for a beat before they turned in unison to look at Ms. Oke with a gleam in their eyes that hadn't been there before.

George proclaimed, "Yes, Yanks are amazing!" They performed a mocking bow towards her.

"Amazingly _boring_," Fred said with a smirk, "These trinkets are child's play."

"That is quite _enough_," The Head of Gryffindor House said with dangerous sharpness.

Before the Transfigurations professor got another word in, Ms. Oke flicked a finger and then both of the collars burst into an obnoxiously patriotic song, about the 'land of the free' and 'home of the brave'. Once the song had gotten underway the twins had started adding their own flourishes. The principal seemed to be orchestrating the number with her fingers. Once the two had finished, she clapped. "Fabulous! What a wonderful performance! Bravo!"

They didn't appear to know how to respond. It wasn't often that they'd been met head-on by someone in authority, who didn't yell at them on sight. Professor Dumbledore was the only adult that readily came to mind.

"I'm sure you want to run along to plot your revenge, don't you?" Ms. Oke sent them a wink.

"Don't encourage them!" A scandalized voice called out from the Gryffindor table, which caused a ripple of amusement. Harry thought it might have been Hermione.

The twin Gryffindors gave a silent, stiff-backed Professor McGonagall a toothy grin. "You heard her, professor! We've no time to waste!" With a cackle, the Weasley twins had scooped an elbow from the other and skipped their way out.

"Thanks again for letting me handle that," the principal said to her, once the twins disappeared.

"It might be best if you leave any future discipline to me. Please excuse me." The deputy headmistress gathered her robes and quickly left the Great Hall.

"They should be preoccupied a while." Ignoring the look of disbelief from Diggory and any other Hogwarts students who had overheard her, the principal took her seat to finish desert.

Harry liked the adult well enough to say across the span between them, "Fred and George are likely to have something cooked up by morning."

"Oh?" Ms. Oke's white, crooked teeth were bared. "Can't wait."

The rest of the meal was reduced to small talk, boring compared to the brief mayhem stirred up by the twins. Delacour was by no means warm towards Harry as she spoke fondly of her upbringing in the magical wilds of France. However, she would ask about his past now and then. It wasn't that Harry didn't want to reciprocate; he simply didn't think that talking about his childhood with the Dursleys would make good dinner conversation, a polite habit drilled into him by Mrs. Longbottom. He kept mention of them short and brief as possible, though this made Delacour more persistent in questions. Her features seemed lovelier the longer Harry spoke to her, despite the complete lack of a smile. Harry was alright with that; Lockhart had ruined him for perfect smiles.

Though curious about the muted and delayed effect of a part-veela's presence on him, Harry certainly had no urge to throw himself upon her, let alone stare at her stupidly like Krum and Diggory had. When Dumbledore stood up and wished everyone a good night, Harry was quite ready to retire to his room for some much needed rest.

The students dispersed, venturing out the Great Hall. Harry placed the fedora onto his head as he stood.

"Bon nuit, 'Arry. May 'oo 'ave sweet dreams."

"You as well." Harry didn't have the heart to tell her to call him by his family name, as he watched her and Madam Maxine join the other students in powder blue to leave. He spent a bit of time pulling the jacket down and the wrist cuffs out since they had bunched up from the time he spent sitting.

A hand lightly tapped his shoulder. It was Ms. Oke. "Tomorrow I'll evaluate the classes you've already taken to see how they line up with Salem Institute's Standards of Excellence. I may have to supplement the Distance Learning packets that're due to arrive with Friday's mail. I'll see you around, Potter." With a little wave tossed over her shoulder, the principal fell into the throng of people departing.

Harry had a crawling sensation; he looked around and caught Professor Moody staring at him. The loony DADA professor toasted his flask towards Harry.

"How did you like my choreography?"

"Draco, it would have been better if you had actually told me to do something. I felt like an idiot, swaggering in front of everyone." Harry took the steps down to join Sally-Anne who was waiting patiently. Draco fell on the other side of him, trailed by Goyle and Crabbe.

Sally-Anne said, "I thought you looked unflappably brilliant. And you followed my advice too."

"What would have happened if I hadn't?"

"A hard slap to the face and a scream of 'You debauched Englishman!' halfway through dinner."

Draco snickered. "Told him to keep his hands to himself?"

"It would've been accidental, but intention doesn't matter much when a lady is fondled," Sally-Anne said. Crabbe and Goyle burst into giggles behind them. She scoffed, "I doubt you'd think it was so amusing if it was Finnigan who groped you."

"I'd knock his teeth ou'," Goyle said seriously.

"And you don't think a bruising slap could do that?" Sally-Anne shook her head. "_Boys._ Why is it they act like they're the only ones who get violent?"

Harry shook his head. "You should ask me about the time Hermione struck Draco."

His roommate sneered, "Filthy Muggleborn."

Sally-Anne smiled, "She's told me already. I'm sorry I missed it."

Draco said something under his breath, but Harry didn't catch it and Sally-Anne wasn't glaring daggers so it couldn't have been foul.

They made their way to the Slytherin Dungeons and parted ways.

* * *

If Harry ever thought that matters would improve once his schoolmates got used to the idea of him being champion, the following day would have shown him how mistaken he was. Fortunately, he never gave the other Houses the benefit of the doubt. It became immediately clear during breakfast that, unlike his housemates, the rest of the school continued to believe that Harry had entered himself into the Quadwizard Tournament. He had, sort of, but that didn't count since he hadn't been chosen from the pool of Hogwarts entrants.

Some of Harry's low-level anxiety about the day was aggravated by the letter from Dumbledore telling him that his unnamed DADA tutor would be waiting outside the classroom. Yet, some of his mood was eased by the twins' failed attempt to prank Ms. Oke; breakfast was interrupted by an almighty roar from the Durmstrang high master. When Harry popped up out of his seat to see what was going on, he saw the adult covered in bright red-and-gold paint—all while the collars on the pranksters' necks sang compliments to Ms. Oke's impeccable reflexes. After a long-winded apology to the high master, Professor McGonagall grabbed each oddly quiet Weasley twin by an ear and marched them straight out the Great Hall.

Harry found himself grinning all the way to his Ancient Runes class aftewards. As usual Sally-Anne and Hermione were chatting to one another about a multitude of subjects, flitting from one to another and oftentimes leaving Harry dizzy.

A familiar sandy blond was already seated and chatting with Blaise Zabini when Harry, Hermione, and Sally-Anne entered. "Theo!" Sally-Anne rushed to Theodore's side, eyeing him for new injuries from his latest Moon Change. "How was it?"

Theodore grinned broadly, "Fine, I'm finally getting the feel for Da's business."

For some strange reason, Harry wanted to sit in the front row, several chairs over from Theodore and Sally-Anne. Maybe he wanted to give them space…? He unpacked his bag.

"How is it that they haven't started dating?" Hermione murmured as the Harry's friends chatted. Zabini didn't seem put off in the slightest when he was suddenly interrupted. He made notations in the margins of the primary Ancient Runes textbook.

"Something about silly hang-ups," Harry said.

Hermione startled. She must not have meant that question for him. "If it's something like that, it won't be long then." The Gryffindor had a wistful look on her face as she gazed at Sally-Anne before she settled into the chair next to Harry.

"Hi Dunning, Lewis," Harry greeted the blonde and brunette who'd taken a seat by him. The glances they spared him held strong disapproval. He glanced around and saw that any Hufflepuff entering the room noticed him and then proceeded to ignore him. It was plain to him that the few Badgers in Professor Babbling's class felt that Harry had stolen enough attention from their champion; a feeling aggravated, perhaps, by the fact that Diggory had not had a formal introduction, unlike the rest of them. Harry garnered similar treatment from the Ravenclaws, with the single exception of Padma Patil. The others clearly thought that Harry had been desperate to earn himself a bit more fame by tricking the goblet into accepting his name. Slytherins were supposed to be an ambitious lot after all.

Professor Babbling came in, and class began. Harry was immediately aware that he was paralyzed; surely Hermione or someone else would notice? This one was perhaps the most sinister he'd encountered. There were no sounds or flashy flickers as other Traps had.

As the professor lectured and showed slides, Harry's fingers had begun to hurt as if they'd been hit with a Stinging Hex. Within ten minutes, the pain had traveled up to his shoulders and had intensified to that of a broken bone. Obviously, Harry was having trouble concentrating, which wasn't good considering he couldn't take notes.

It was about this point that Professor Babbling stood in front of Harry's desk within view of everyone else. "Mr. Potter, is there something you would like to share with us?"

"Share?" He ground out, surprised he could speak. Hermione frowned at him.

"You stubborn boy, why didn't you signal that you were caught in a Runic Trap? It was set to go twenty minutes ago."

"I didn't want to interrupt your lesson," Harry said distantly, feeling stupid for assuming that he couldn't speak.

"Liar," she said leaning forward with her dark brown eyes fixed on Harry's.

Harry looked down at his arms as the pain clawed its way down his back. "I was stupid to have been caught."

With an aggravated huff, Professor Babbling immediately drew a Runic Pattern with her wand in the air, similar to how Tom Riddle had written his name in the Chamber of Secrets, and swished her wand to fling the hexagram towards the desk. The moment it slipped through his arms, Harry slumped forward. He clamped down on his throat before he made a sound.

"Your assignment is on the board. Class is dismissed!" She called out.

Harry kept his head on the desk, listening to the shuffling footsteps through the wood of his desk. It was odd and echoey.

"Harry, why don't we go see Madam Pomfrey?" It was Hermione. "You don't look well."

"He will be fine in another few minutes. I need to speak to Mr. Potter _alone_," said the Study of Ancient Runes professor.

"We should go." Sally-Anne was attempting to draw the Gryffindor away.

"Look at him! You watched the counter-pattern she created! She _tortured_ him, and I… _I didn't notice_!"

Harry glanced up and saw that Sally-Anne had taken Hermione by the shoulders and pulled her towards the exit. There was calm whispering from Sally-Anne that Harry couldn't catch. "No! I can't leave him!" Hermione had an outraged expression on her face, before Theodore had shut the door on her.

Professor Babbling knelt next to the desk to better watch Harry's expressions. "Sometimes… you may find yourself in situations that _require_ outside help in order to survive."

It was a lesson Snape had tried and somewhat failed to impart on him. Harry closed his eyes understanding the rationale. He tried to reach out to others, but it was easier to take care of them instead. What would shake the belief that to be alive meant unavoidable suffering? Pain wasn't pleasant, not by a long shot, but it proved that he was still present in the world.

"…I was informed that a similar Runic Pattern was discovered on the desk you 'preferred' in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. It was designed to hold you for the duration of the class when activated and nothing more."

Unsure what to say, Harry flicked his eyes up to hers.

"You are aware that whoever drugged you with that Concoction of Bewitchment could have done worse."

Harry shuddered at the thought and looked away. "I know."

The adult's shoulders pulled back as she straightened from her crouch. "Every Wednesday you will find yourself inexplicably drawn into a Runic Trap, Mr. Potter. It will be your responsibility to tell someone before it triggers nastier side effects."

Harry thought he might be returning to a more normal state and flexed his fingers whose joints had finally stopped aching. "And if I break it first…?"

She sighed. "If you don't, do you understand what you must do?"

"Yes, professor."

"You may go then." Professor Babbling returned to her desk, picking up a piece of parchment as Harry hobbled out of the room with his schoolbag clutched in his hands.

Theodore was waiting in the corridor for him. Sally-Anne had probably thought it'd be best to escort Hermione to lunch instead of letting her wait for Harry to appear. "You alright?"

"Yes," Harry lied.

His friend snorted, but didn't call him on it.

His two friends fussed over Harry during lunch, a fact that both humored and mortified him. If he'd known that this was would make Theodore and Sally-Anne focus their attention on him, Harry might have done something harmless to get it sooner. He rather missed them, a fierce sentiment he hadn't noticed until their presence was gone. Ensconced between them, their easy, no-strings company was a reprieve compared to the prat who usually kept it.

Across from the trio, Draco was of the mind that Harry should drop Ancient Runes and join Independent Potions Lab since it was an inevitable eventuality that Harry would be assigned potions work for detention. The idea of voluntarily signing up to be in Snape's class disgusted Harry. The quartet of witches as usual sat far away from Harry's group, though he caught Daphne glancing his way now and then. She had spent more time doing that ever since she discovered the cause to his rare black rages.

After lunch, Defense Against the Dark Arts followed, but Harry didn't stay for it. Before the class had started, Harry unfolded the apology letter he'd written—to show that it was free of any curses—and handed it to the grizzly-haired professor with a murmured confession.

"Only a good man would admit to something like _this_… To apologize? Well," Professor Moody's eyes roamed around the classroom, his mouth curled in contempt. "It was my own fault that I didn't catch the curse." Harry didn't jump when the gruff man barked out 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' It was a phrase he had come to expect. He nodded and headed to his exit instead of his desk.

"Oi, where're you goin'?" Goyle had a deeply troubled tone.

"Harry?" Sally-Anne frowned towards him.

"Elsewhere." He paused and flashed a grin at his year-mates. "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"Potter has special permission from the headmaster to have his lessons with someone else," Professor Moody announced, "And if I hear any complaining I'll take twenty points each! Now, as we were discussing last time the Unforgivables—"

Harry shut the door behind him, shutting out the disgruntled faces and muttering.

"Hello, Potter. Remember me?" A rail thin, dark-haired Ravenclaw witch stepped closer to him. She had the badge of Head Girl.

"Dresden, right?"

Julianne Dresden smiled. "I was told you needed a mentor for DADA class."

Harry nodded.

"Well then, let's find an appropriate unused classroom for our one and only lesson." They headed down the stairs to the ground floor.

"Only the one?"

"I meant to use this time for my own independent study for Potions. The headmaster promised to find someone by next week."

Harry doubted that the headmaster would be able to find someone reliable on such short notice. They entered the old Alchemy Classroom. With a quick spell, the dust they had kicked up upon entry was banished. And thus, Harry began practicing counter-curses and anti-hexes which nullified the effects of low-level curses and hexes. These spells, he was informed matter-of-factly, could save his life one day when he was incapacitated by a simple curse during a fight.

That evening after dinner, Harry changed into his old, secondhand set of robes that hadn't been Transfigured by Draco into the Salem Institute's uniform. Harry did have to adjust it a little since he'd grown another inch since he last wore it. Over the summer, Neville had taught Harry how to tailor his robes—using special tailoring Enchanted Tools—completely negating any need to buy new clothing to replace the ones he outgrew. When his robes had fit him after Dobby had gone to Diagon Alley, Harry had assumed that the house-elf had replaced his old robes. After Neville's lessons, it had made much more sense that Dobby had simply adjusted Harry's robes whenever they were laundered so they would continue to fit him as he grew.

Leaving through the portrait-hole, Harry met several other older housemates, many of whom were Quidditch teammates, in an auxiliary Potions lab. It was an unwritten rule not to talk about why a person had been assigned detention; bragging about such things was what Gryffindors did. As soon as Harry had been told to stir an extra-large batch of Dreamless Sleep Draught, he silently accepted the long-handled wooden paddle and went about his business. Warrington had been charged with monitoring the heat. Counting mentally, Harry slowly stirred six times anti-clockwise making the strokes particularly erratic to mix the ingredients more thoroughly and then stirred clockwise the same number. Once he finished, he removed the paddle, waiting for Warrington to adjust the heat.

Beside him, seventh years, Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick, were lugging the ingredients of the next batch of potion from the counter—this time it looked to be for a salve of some kind—that Urquhart had measured and counted. Behind Urquhart, were rows of younger Slytherins, grinding roots, beetles, and anything else required, filling up tubs that were then delivered to the two sixth years—Miles Bletchley and Graham Montague—in Urquhart's row, who were all quickly weighing out huge amounts of material. When they began to dump greenish fluid into the cauldron next, Harry knew it must be Zit-Clearing Salve; the stench of Bubotuber Pus was distinctive.

Waves of heat rolled from the potion he was tending. It was clarifying as it bubbled. Harry stirred again, counting to ten each time in opposite directions. As soon as it began to boil, he removed the paddle to set it into a bucket of Nullifying Solution, while Warrington dutifully turned off the heat. Harry watched the time tick by like a hawk. Seventh-year Adrian Pucey was stirring the cauldron next to him with a look of intense focus.

Warrington had pushed a wheel-less trolley next to the cauldron with an extremely large flask, which had a tap at the bottom. A massive cork sat by it and a plate of melted wax for proper sealing. "It's nearly done," Harry muttered to him. Pulling out his wand, he waved it over the potion to set it—something he had embarrassingly forgotten to do with his own during class and resulted in a substantial point deduction.

Warrington tapped a device hooked up to the cauldron which immediately tilted the set-up and poured the gelatinous potion into the awaiting flask. Within moments the cauldron was emptied and the flask was corked and sealed. Snape materialized from the shadows to inspect it. After a brief command, Warrington pushed it to a large storeroom of massive vials and flasks.

A pointed finger set Harry to stir another enormous cauldron. Harry looked over the instructions which also provided helpful tips to potion stirrers who wished to make high quality hundred-fold batches. With a tap of his wand he changed his Glaxxes to the tight-fitting athletic shape to protect his eyes. Then he swiped up a new long-handled paddle and a pair of thick gloves and set to work stirring the spicy-smelling Pepper-Up Potion, while a red-headed fifth year Harry had never spoken to before managed the intense heat required. She looked a bit like Ginny Weasley except taller and her eyes were hazel.

Sweat rolled down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt as he carefully stirred the slightly smoky, volatile potion. He banished any other thoughts besides the counting from his mind as he toiled on the potion which required a strange combination of stirs. Thirty-seven anti-clockwise, thirteen clock-wise. Let simmer three minutes. Twenty-nine clockwise, seventeen anti-clockwise. Let boil seven minutes. The instructions recommended Harry step away to prevent heat stroke, but he'd dealt with worse. Twenty-three anti-clockwise, nineteen clockwise. As soon as Harry stepped back, pushing the paddle into the awaiting bucket, the fifth-year removed the heat. He pulled off the long-sleeved, leather gloves which had both protected his hands and forearms and prevented his sweat from mixing in with the solution. His eyes were still stinging from his sweat.

"Time," the red-head said. Harry waved his wand over the potion to set it, and she dutifully had the potion poured into a huge Erlenmeyer flask and then corked and sealed it.

Thankful that the heavy-duty ventilation charms kept the Potions lab fairly cool and the air clear, Harry noticed that all of the workers grinding and sorting and counting ingredients were gone. His potion had been the last to finish brewing.

"Potter." Harry could not help the stiffening muscles in his back from being addressed from behind.

"Yes, sir?"

"When you have finished your weekly coursework for the Salem Institute you will otherwise serve out your two-hour detention here Wednesday through Saturday night. The potions created will provide needed supplies used by the staff, students, and visitors of Hogwarts. A mistake here will cause any one of them grief later. If you are feeling unwell or do not feel you can provide exemplary results then say so and you will be set to preparing ingredients instead. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Harry ground out.

"You may go."

Arms and back sore, a chilled Harry waited until he was in the corridor to cast a multitude of charms to get the sweat, stench, and detritus off of him. He had read years ago that casting spells around brewing potions could change their characteristics, or worse set them too soon. The only wand-waving allowed was the nonverbal one to set one's potion; anything else was a simple tap of a wand that didn't even channel enough magic to set off Monitoring Charms.

Potions labs were necessarily required to have as little active magic as possible; every eight months, a lab was set to rest for sixty days to release any stray magic that may have built up during its use. It was why there were so many potions labs in the dungeon and why their classes occasionally rotated through them. Showering as soon as he had Summoned a set of clean robes and his hygienic supplies from his room, Harry returned to his dorm to collapse onto his bed. When the aches from his body kept him from sleep, he downed a potion and was out like a light.

The next few days could've been the worst at Hogwarts, if not for Harry's second year when everyone had been _convinced_ that he was setting a basilisk on Muggle-borns. This year, if Harry hadn't had his all-Slytherin classes dispersed between ones with mixed Houses, he might have been a lot lonelier with all the outright hostility pouring on him.

Harry didn't fret so much about it; what's done was done. During Charms class, he made an assortment of objects zoom across the room. The Summoning Charm was a breeze compared to the dreaded Conjuring Spells he would have to attempt later that day.

"Good work, Harry," Daphne said with a friendly wink once they'd been dismissed, Tracey and Pansy quiet by her side and Bulstrode a half-step behind, "You really impressed Professor Flitwick." He was suspicious of her friendliness especially given that she had said that he would come to regret whatever excuse she fabricated for him, yet he could still appreciate a compliment.

Right then Cedric Diggory walked past them surrounded by a group of simpering wizards and witches, all of whom looked at Harry like he was a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Harry certainly didn't blame them. He didn't look the part of champion. Diggory, on the other hand, was exceptionally handsome with his straight nose, brownish blond hair, and grey eyes. It was hard to say who was receiving more admiration among the other three champions: Diggory, Delacour, or Krum. Harry had actually seen these very same sixth years also begging autographs of the other two champions at different points of the day.

Pansy suddenly asked, "Harry, would you like to walk with us?"

"If you'd like."

The five of them strode to the Great Hall. It felt like ages since he'd last spoken to the witches. They filled him in on what they learned during DADA class, asked after who was teaching him, and gave him authoritative gossip about Delacour and Krum's rumored tryst in Greenhouse Six. Harry thought that their continued dislike of Draco was obviously the cause of their distance, and Harry didn't fault them in the slightest. He did wish that Daphne would not stand so close to him and that Tracey would stop looking at him as if he might hex her. It made him uneasy and a little sick that the golden brunette was so wary of him. He'd never done anything to hurt her nor would he ever. He didn't say so only because words were easily mistrusted.

During Transfigurations, Harry had nearly wept in relief because he _finally_ conjured a speck, just a speck, of coal from air. It had been rather exhausting getting that speck, much like it had when he was trying to summon a Patronus last year. Everyone around him was conjuring coal discs without any issue, but he was not going to disparage himself over it. Professor McGonagall had nodded approvingly over Harry's work causing him to grin, but then the old hag assigned him even more homework. He sighed. At this rate he would be spending all his free time either in the dormitory or in the library completing the assignments when he wasn't in detention doing the yet-to-be-seen assignments from the Salem Institute and stirring enormous batches of potions.

Several thick envelopes arrived by Friday, just as Ms. Oke promised. Included was a note from Snape saying that he was excused from potions work in the dungeons to meet with the principal about his studies in the Alchemy Classroom. Harry shoved everything into his bookbag and proceeded to Double Herbology after breakfast.

He was squarely hit in the jaw once by the Bouncing Bulbs they were repotting for Professor Sprout, dodging or ducking the other attempts to bean him. The Ravenclaws near him had laughed unpleasantly when one had landed the lucky hit; Under his breath, Draco had hexed their pot to upturn their carefully planted bulbs, causing havoc when the bulbs began to bounce every which way. Professor Sprout didn't even deduct points for it. She seemed more distant than usual. As the Head of Hufflepuff House maybe she was upset like the rest of her house-students about Harry being a Quadwizard champion. However, it seemed odd since she hadn't been so shaken by the Petrification of Ernest Macmillan. Harry wondered if her distraction had more to do with providing food for the dragons that would soon grace Hogwarts grounds.

Right after lunch, standing outside the Potions lab Harry had thought for a wild moment that the large badges pinned to the front of the Gryffindor robes were S.P.E.W. badges. Then he saw that they carried the same, yellow glowing message with an animated Badger carrying the Quadwizard Cup:

**The Unrivaled Cedric Diggory**  
** Proud Hogwarts Champion**

"What d'ya think, Potter?" Seamus Finnigan had said loudly when Harry approached the Potions classroom with Theodore and Sally-Anne. "It even has a built-in trick!" He tapped the badge on his chest with his wand and the message upon it vanished in a swirl of color and was replaced by another one, which glowed in an emerald green:

**HARRY THE FAIRY**  
** Ready To Get Buried**

Harry's eyes burned at the message. He let out a hiss before he caught himself. Finnigan's laughter was boisterous. The arse thought he was funny. "Take a look at 'im, he looks like he's about to cry!"

Draco looked ready to step forward, but at the blistering glare from Harry he stepped back.

"Oh very mature," Hermione said sarcastically to Finnigan, "Really _witty_. And you call yourself a Lion!" She thankfully wasn't wearing one of those badges.

"Why don't you go to Ravenclaw where you belong?" Finnigan shot back.

Theodore and Sally-Anne were behind Harry. His roommate whispered, "If you want us to beat him bloody, just say the word, Harry."

"Let's show some solidarity, mates!" The antagonistic Gryffindor laughed as the others, excluding an upset Neville and a scowling Ron, tapped their badges, until the message _HARRY THE FAIRY_ was shining brightly all around them. Heat rose in Harry's face and neck and the frustration he'd been feeling seemed to burst through a dam in his chest. Before he'd thought about what he was doing, he had drawn his wand, a spell half-finished on his tongue before he checked himself. All the Gryffindors but Finnigan scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

The Slytherins howled in laughter behind Harry, while he forced the cold anger away, which so wanted to flatten Finnigan. He didn't want to hurt anyone, and he especially wanted to avoid having Finnigan's ashes sent back to his family in a salve jar. It'd make for bad press for the Salem Institute.

"You think you're free of ponces? Cowards and hypocrites, the whole lot of you," Draco spat towards them.

"We all know you and 'im have been shaggin'! Neville caught you last week, middle of the bloody day!" Finnigan spat out, eyes going from Draco to Harry. "Disgusting is what it is, buggerin' blokes."

Harry stared incomprehensively at the idiot before he slowly turned to Draco. The soul-shard wasn't able to possess him during the day. Not yet at least. His rambling thoughts settled onto a solution, and Harry was filled with sickening realization: _That would be a pertinent reason why someone would need your hair._

"Aw, are you two about to have a domestic?"

Draco's jaw was stubbornly set and his arrogant posture screamed that he did nothing wrong, but his eyes betrayed fear. Harry found he quite liked that fear considering the despicableness of the other teen's actions; Harry however didn't let himself revel in that. There were more important matters to settle first. Namely, one Seamus Finnigan.

"_Densaugeo!_"

Hardly batting an eye, Harry cast a Shield Charm and then said, "_Furnunculus!"_ at the other fourth year. Great ugly, yet painless, boils sprang up all over Finnigan's unscarred features. "You and I will discuss this at a later time, _Malfoy_."

Sucking down a great gulp of air, Draco turned away to stare at the rapidly crusting face of Finnigan. His lip curled in disgust. "Nice face, Faffigan!" There was a manic edge to the prat's laughter, grating to Harry's ears.

The Gryffindor waved his wand threateningly, but he couldn't see very well now that his face resembled something found on the side of a wet log.

"Seamus! Put that away before you poke someone's eye out," Ron proclaimed, stepping forward as Finnigan's apparent second. He raised his wand at Harry's face. "And _you_, I thought you were a decent one! You had me convinced, and then you go and do _that_ showing you're just like the rest of _them_." For a moment, Harry thought Ron would start railing against him for his alleged gayness. "You actually did it, didn't you?"

"If you think I did _those_ things with Malfoy, you're sorely mistaken—"

"No! I don't bloody care _who_ you're buggering—though why _Malfoy..._" Ron shook his head with disgust. "'Cept my sister, of course. You touch her and you're dead." He jabbed his wand at Harry.

"I'm not interested in your sister." Not in the way other teenaged wizards were, Harry suspected.

"Don't change the subject—What I mean is that I don't think it was somebody else who put your name in. I think it was you. You did it to yourself to get attention—Like you don't get bloody enough as it is."

Harry stared at the redhead like he was daft. "You think _I'm_ clever enough to bypass Dumbledore's Age Line _and _Confund the Goblet of Fire into taking a fourth champion?"

"You slayed a giant, mythical beast our second year _by yourself_! Who's to say it's impossible?"

Deciding it would be fruitless to argue that it hadn't been him that killed the basilisk, Harry put doubt into his tone. "I think you've seriously overestimated my abilities by quite a bit."

_"_Bloody Slytherins never get to the point," Ron muttered._ "_It's a yes or no. _Did you or did you not put your name in for the running_?"

"What is all this noise?" a soft, deadly voice asked. As soon as Professor Snape had arrived, Ron shoved his long wand back into his robes; the same could not be said of Finnigan, who had yet to holster his wand.

"He started it!" Finnigan shouted, thrusting his wand blindly towards Snape.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for threatening a professor of Hogwarts. Now, put away your wands, you twits, before I assign detention."

Harry holstered his wand. Reluctantly, Finnigan did the same, and Harry's housemates clamored for attention. Not to be dismissed, the Gryffindors began to yell over them. "Silence." Snape pointed a long, yellow-stained finger at Draco. "Explain."

"Finnigan attacked Potter, sir—"

"He drew his wand first!" Finnigan cried out outraged.

"—under provocation of course." Draco gesturing gracefully towards Finnigan, whose badge still displayed _HARRY THE FAIRY_. "These idiots surrounded Harry with those insulting badges. Not very proper behavior towards a champion, I think. What if Principal Oke found out that her champion was being bullied? It wouldn't look good for Hogwarts. Might even cause an international flap."

Snape's glare momentarily flicked to Harry and then he said nastily, "Every one of you will turn in those badges, Let's see… five points for each badge… thirty-five points deducted from the Gryffindor House. Tut, tut."

"But Potter got Seamus!" Ron said angrily pointing at Finnigan's face. "LOOK!"

Finnigan's face now truly resembled something that would have been at home in a book on poisonous fungi. Harry thought it was fitting curse for a bullying homophobe.

Snape looked coldly at Finnigan. "I see no difference."

Both Finnigan and Ron began to shout at Snape at the same time, their voices echoing into a confused din that was impossible to decipher into words. However, it was easy to understand their gist.

"Let's see," Professor Snape said in his silkiest voice. "Another twenty points from Gryffindor for disrespect towards a professor of Hogwarts and a detention each for Weasley and Finnigan. Now get inside or it'll be a week's worth of detention."

From the start of the year, Double Potions had become a tense experience for Harry since Professor Snape constantly stalked by his desk. And yet, being shut in the dungeon for nearly two hours with Gryffindors might have been a lot more unpleasant if it wasn't for the Potions Master. It was very odd to think of Potions as another class where Harry didn't have to feel ostracized despite the glares from the Gryffindors. Most were absolutely _convinced _that he'd tricked the Goblet of Fire into taking his name, which sadly now included Ron Weasley.

An hour and a half passed smoothly. Harry was now ladling up his cooled potion and corking the vial. He'd spent most of his time thinking of creative ways to humiliate Draco for providing nasty gossip fodder to the rest of the school. Frankly, Harry didn't care who had Polyjuiced themselves to look like him; they'd likely had been blackmailed anyway.

Mostly, Harry felt betrayed and violated in ways he never imagined, and that sustained the simmering anger directed at his detestable roommate. He cleaned up his work area and put his potions materials away. The other students appeared to be frantically working; Neville was already crying, knowing he was about to suffer terribly from poison when his antidote didn't work as it should. Harry had thought to help his brother, but he was taking some small pleasure in the other teen's tears. Neville had unfortunately not learned to his keep his mouth shut. This seemed fitting retribution.

"Label and turn in your antidotes!" Snape said, looking around at them all, his eyes glittering unpleasantly. "You should all have followed your recipes and prepared them by now. I will be selecting someone to test one…"

"Not me, you ruddy bastard," Harry breathed out. Ron and Hermione turned to him with shock, while Theodore and Sally-Anne grimaced in concerned. At the level below Harry, Draco was calmly ladling out his batch of antidote into three vials. There had not been a single word or glance from his roommate since they entered the lab.

Black, cruel eyes met Harry's, and Harry knew what was coming as the niggling feeling started up again. Snape was going to poison _him_. Even if his potion didn't work, Harry had a lump of bezoar in his pocket. He scowled imagining that if the greasy-haired git chose him, Harry would have the bastard flat on his back, twitching and jerking from the effects of the Cruiciatus Curse like his spider… like the two people Voldemort had tortured. Harry shuddered slightly and decided that maybe that wasn't such a good plan.

Unfortunately, Snape was already approaching Harry—And then a knock on the dungeon door interrupted whatever the old bat had been about to say. "Yes?" The Potions Master said curtly.

Ginny Weasley came confidently into the room smiling. She walked right to Professor Snape, who towered far over the third-year Gryffindor. "Sir, I'm supposed to take Harry Potter upstairs."

The adult stared down his hooked nose at Ginny, whose smile never faded. "Potter has another half-hour of Potions to complete," the professor said coldly, enunciating every word. "He will go when class is finished."

Her expression became more determined. "Sir—Professor Dumbledore himself requested his presence," the Gryffindor said without any sort of nervousness. Harry had to admire her nerve. "All the champions have to report in."

"Very well," Snape snapped, "Potter, leave your things here; I want you back after you've finished… to test your antidote."

Draco made a noise of disbelief, but whatever he meant to say died on his lips at the glare his godfather sent him. As to why the cotton-headed prat would be surprised, Harry wasn't sure. Of course, Snape would be eager to test the viability of the Antidote to Billywig Stings. His intense curiosity and love for potions would not let the chance slip by without a fight. And if Harry showed he was capable of O.W.L. level work then—

"Sir—he's got to take his things with him," Ginny said firmly, and Harry found himself admiring her more. He'd never seen anyone successfully stand up to the greasy-haired git before, besides himself. The Potions Master must be getting _soft_. "All the champions—"

"Very _well_! Potter—take your bag and get out of my sight!" Snape snarled viciously.

Without a word to his friends, Harry swung his bag over his shoulder and headed out the door.

"It's amazing, isn't it?" Ginny said the moment Harry had closed the classroom door behind him. "You being champion?"

"Yeah, really amazing," Harry said heavily as they set off toward the steps into the Entrance Hall. "I just _love_ the publicity and the chance to get maimed by dragons."

Ginny frowned, flicking her long red hair over her shoulder. She, like many of the other girls in her year, had gotten softer in the face over the summer. Puberty, Harry reasoned. He had noticed how hair was growing in uncomfortable places on himself and how his voice was deepening, but that wasn't something that happened all at once like it seemed to be for girls. Dreading the horrendous cracks he'd heard in Terry Boot's voice in Arithmancy, Harry spoke softly and evenly to bide his time. And the _smell… _Maybe Harry was the only one sensitive to it, but he cast a Refreshening charm on himself at least twice a day now, in addition to daily showers—

"If you hate being champion so much, why'd you put your name into the Goblet of Fire?"

"Yes, why on Earth would I do something I know I'll regret later," Harry bit out. Damn the arrogance of Voldemort's soul-shard, and whoever thought it'd be brilliant to make him the fourth champion. Harry had suspected Professor Moody, but now he wasn't so sure. He had been unable to dig up any sort of reasonable proof beyond a hunch.

Ginny blinked at him, obviously not following. "…Sorry?"

"I wanted nothing to do with this silly death tournament with its stupid eternal glory and monetary prize I don't need."

"…Then… Someone _else_ put your name in?"

Harry shot an annoyed look at her, but clamped down on the impulse to berate her for not thinking of it sooner. "I think Hermione's figured that out already and told Neville; otherwise they'd be wearing those bleeding badges, too." He looked at the front of her robes meaning to check for a badge, but instead noticed the soft mounds beneath before he averted his eyes. The nightmare of her lifeless body came unbidden, and his breath shuddered slightly. Not to mention, he didn't need another reason for Ron Weasley to hate him.

Agitated, she shoved a thumb against her chest. "Don't lump me in with the likes of Finnigan the Creep," a red-faced Ginny said hotly. "And none of my brothers are wearing it _because_ you're the only Slytherin they respect."

Harry hadn't known why Ron hadn't worn one of the badges, but he had suspected it had more to do with Hermione than any respect the ginger might feel towards a _bloody Slytherin_. Hexing Finnigan hadn't won Harry any favors from Ron. Harry wondered if the arse was Ron's best mate. If so, why couldn't he have befriended Neville instead?

"And, here we are." Ginny stopped by a door and looked at Harry expectantly. She pushed her hair back over her shoulders. Her hair brushed her chin as she bounced slightly, drawing Harry's eyes down again by the cascade of movement it caused. He immediately looked away from the barest amount of cleavage peeking out from her shirt under her robes which had fallen open.

She leaned closer, her orange-red hair slipping off her shoulders to frame her chest. "Hey, so…"

"Thanks for spiriting me away from Potions," Harry said quickly, grabbing the knob of the door. He entered the room without knocking. Once he shut the door behind him, he felt like he was finally able to breathe. It took a moment longer for his heart to stop thumping hard. He looked up.

It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle. The three champions were already there; Krum was standing to the side looking miffed, while Diggory and Delacour were chatting. Delacour seemed much more animated than before. Harry wondered if there might have been a fight between Krum and Delacour for them to be so distant now. Pansy had said something about a romantic tryst between the two…

Harry recognized the squat, paunchy man as the same photographer from the _Daily Prophet_ who'd elbowed him in Flourish and Blotts a couple years back. The photographer was standing behind a large black camera which was smoking slightly and was watching Fleur out the corner of his eyes. Beside him, stood a witch with elaborate and rigid curls of platinum blond hair which contrasted oddly with her sharp jawline. At the front of the room, there was a table covered in a long length of black velvet. Ms. Oke was seated behind it.

"Harry!" The Salem Institute principal cried happily, standing and raising her hands up in an expression of excitement. "This is just the wand weighing ceremony; the rest of the judges will be here in a moment."

What judges? Harry wanted to ask, but refrained since he'd obviously missed it in Professor Dumbledore's long-winded Start-of-Term speech. "Wand weighing?" He queried instead.

"Your wand needs to be checked for full functionality," she said. "And, that creepy little man was waiting for you so he could finish taking his photographs and scurry out the door. Right, Ken?" Her green eyes looked rather cool as they flicked towards the squat wizard, who scowled in her general direction without responding.

Obediently, Harry went to stand by the other champions before the camera. The photographer took several group photos of them and then pulled Harry aside for an individual shot. Harry refused to pose in a ridiculous manner no matter how much the wizard prodded him to; Harry did smile though he hated every moment of it. Once the photographer had finished, he began to pack his gear. Ms. Oke stepped forward to supervise in an intimidating manner. Soon, she was shooing the wizard out, and the door shut, leaving the champions alone with the blonde witch.

"Well, well, now that noisy Yankee has left, I can introduce myself." The witch stepped forward in her satin blue dress with black fur trim. A long, gold chain was connected to the sides of her pert, bejeweled spectacles. "My. What a charismatic quartet," she said, approaching their silent group. "Hello-o! I'm Rita Skeeter." She offered a hand to shake with each one of them, though Harry had initially recoiled since she had already written a book about him. "I write for the _Daily Prophet._" Skeeter threw up her red-manicured hands excitedly with much less flair than Ms. Oke had. "But you know that, don't you?" She looked directly at Harry who did his best not to squirm, and then her attention drifted to the other three. "It's _you_ we don't know."

None of them knew what to say to her.

Skeeter chuckled once, nodding at them. "You're the juicy news… What quirks…" She said gently cupping Delacour's face, "Lurk beneath those rosy cheeks?" Skeeter lightly slapped the Beauxbatons Champion; Harry forced his face to remain blank while Delacour looked quite incensed.

"What mysteries do the muscles mask?" Skeeter went behind Diggory, running her hand through his hair as if he were a large two-legged hound and not a human being. Diggory grinned. "Does courage lie beneath those curls?" She drew her hand away from the Hufflepuff, and Harry stepped through Krum and Delcour to remove himself from the writer's wandering hands. Skeeter drew an arm around Diggory's shoulder and Krum's, holding them tightly. "In short, what makes a champion _tick_?" She said this all with a broad smile, a fake one that made Harry uneasy. Her head craned back to look at them, and then she pulled away from the two. "Me, myself, and I want to know. Not to mention my _rabid_ readers!" Her laughter was high and scratchy rather like a wheezing phoenix on its Burning Day. Then she crossed her arms, tapping a finger against a rouged cheek. "So, who's feeling up to sharing? Hm?"

The others looked away, finding some feature of the room much more interesting to gaze at.

Her shrewd blue eyes locked with Harry's. "Shall we start with the youngest?" She grabbed Harry by the arm before he had a chance to react. "Lovely."

"Er—excuse me," Harry said, trying to pull his arm out of her surprisingly strong grasp. He clutched air uselessly instead of drawing his wand. He could imagine how Skeeter's _rabid readers_ would react if he hexed her for being obnoxious. Reporters were supposed to be obnoxious, that's how they badgered and weaseled information out of others.

She steered him into another room and towards a small, narrow door adjacent to a stairwell. "We don't want to be in a place with all that noise," she said, finally loosening her grip on him enough to open the plain wooden door. "Yes, this is nice and cozy."

Harry yanked his arm away and took several steps back. A broom cupboard accosted his vision. For a moment he was back at the Dursleys with a hungry belly. He desperately wanted to feel the sun again, the only warmth he was allowed.

She snapped her fingers at him a couple of times, and that was enough to remind him that he was fourteen, not seven. "I said, come along, dear." Skeeter perched precariously upon an upturned bucket inside of the cramped closet. "You should feel right at home."

"I think not," Harry said angrily. She was bloody off her rocker if she thought he was going in there.

"Mind if I use a Quick-Quotes Quill? It leaves me free to talk to you normally."

"If you want me to talk to you, I suggest you find a different venue for an interview," he slammed the door shut on the rude woman and stormed back into the other room, slamming that door shut too. He stalked towards the standing champions. Krum seemed less than interested at Harry's entrance, while Delacour and Diggory looked up when he reappeared.

Delacour blinked. "Zat was quick."

"How was she?" Diggory asked.

"I don't know. She expected me to sit in a broom cupboard with her," Harry said through gritted teeth. Even if he wanted to sit, his feet were too restless to allow it. Mostly he wanted to go back and hex Skeeter to have her hair fade in color and fall out in a sign of premature balding. He knew the spells for it. He shook the thoughts out of his mind. When had he become so rattled by the sight of a broom cupboard? _I need to calm down_. At that, he clasped his hands behind him and stood up straight. "What?" He snapped at the three champions. Delacour had maintained eye contact with him, which was good since Harry was sick of the pity he saw on Diggory's face.

"What is ze matter? 'Oo do not like ze closed spaces?" The Beauxbatons Champion asked kindly. "I myself do not like zem."

Harry couldn't help the bark of laughter. "Were you shoved into a small space and left for hours, sometimes days? No? Then you have no idea what a broom cupboard means to me."

Delacour's mouth flattened and her gaze grew hostile.

"You don't need to take it out on her," Diggory said to someone invisible standing next to Harry. "It's not her fault that she doesn't know."

Thrusting a finger in the direction of the door, Harry hissed as he spun to look at each of them, "Rita Skeeter wrote an unauthorized biography on me detailing the abuse I underwent with my Muggle relatives. That woman knows precisely what she's doing." The way Diggory's eyes shot open in dismay was almost comical. Delacour's expression grew sour, but she didn't say a word.

When Krum kept glancing at him with a quizzical frown gracing his stoic features, Harry said, "What? If you have something to say, say it."

"Hyu survive dementor attack, und hyu are ashamed."

"They kept attacking me because they saw me as easy prey. Why wouldn't I be ashamed?"

"I do not understand. No shame to find in survival." Krum smoothed his features to a neutral state; he did not step closer even though his large body seemed to sway indecisively. He raised his hands to hold over his heart. "I hav good ffamily, good parents. I do not know vhat is like to live among bad ffamily, but no shame to escape them, to find new brothers und sisters."

The defensiveness in Harry faltered, but when he glanced at Delacour her expression held a tinge of betrayal and disappointment. He'd only kept to the nice parts of his stay with the Dursleys, making light of anything that could be spun out of context. Harry lifted his hands to forestall the torrent of sympathies swimming behind her eyes. "Don't look at me like that. I spared you from the delightful tales of my cupboard adventures, such as the day I peeled all the paint from the cupboard walls or the time I persevered through a plague of centipedes and spiders sent by my cousin Dudley."

Instead of shocking her, a dark, angry look crossed her face. Harry very nearly took a step back, unsure whether she'd start shooting fire from her hands. Then with a much thicker accent coated with wrath Delacour said, "Zat _woman_ 'az no buisnez treat-eeng 'oo like zat! I shayll breeng my complaints to ze 'eadmistress!"

"I, myself, would like to hear your complaints, Miss Delacour," Professor Dumbledore said with a courteous bow and smile, as he walked in, surrounded by five adults. "But I'm afraid we will have to discuss the matter later. The Weighing of the Wands is about to start. If you would all please have a seat."

Delacour clucked her tongue, eyes narrowing dangerously at the Headmaster, and crossed her arms. She uncrossed them when Madam Maxine cleared her throat and plastered on a polite look of indifference.

The headmaster gestured towards the four chairs sitting in odd places in the room and they slid towards the Quadwizard champions at the flick of his fingers. Harry was forced to sit in a middle chair between Diggory and Delacour. He had the strangest notion that the others were guarding him. It set his teeth on edge.

At the velvet-covered table, Headmistress Maxine, High Master Karkaroff, Principal Oke, and Mr. Crouch seated themselves. "May I introduce Mr. Ollivander? He will be checking your wands to ensure they are in good condition."

With a jolt of surprise, Harry saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the window. Harry had only met Mr. Ollivander once before over three years ago in Diagon Alley. The two champions next to him tensed, confusing Harry for a moment before he saw that Rita Skeeter had slithered in, settling herself in a corner with a slip of parchment on her knee as she sucked on her lower lip. The Quick-Quotes Quill was scribbling furiously across a long piece of parchment. It seemed she had already rolled it up to make room.

Not wasting any time, Mr. Ollivander had already called Delacour up. He twirled her wand in his hands, causing a number of gold sparks to shoot out and then held it close to his eyes to examine it carefully. Delacour's wand was apparently nine and a half inches long made of rosewood with a veela hair from her grandmother as its magical core. He called the wand temperamental.

_So, she's quarter-veela_, Harry thought to himself. The more he looked at her, the more her silvery blond hair somewhat reminded Harry of Draco's mother…

After running his fingers once more along the wand, Mr. Ollivander conjured up a bouquet of flowers and handed it and the wand back to the Beauxbatons Champion. Fleur glided back to her seat smiling at Diggory as he passed her. The pleasant aroma of the conjured flowers wafted by Harry. Daffodil, clover, and iris were some of Harry's favorites, easy to grow and hardy in the Dursley garden if he couldn't water them a day or two.

Mr. Ollivander held reverent recognition for Diggory's wand having made it himself from twelve and a quarter inches of ash with the hair of a male unicorn, which had apparently nearly gored the wand-maker after he plucked the hair from the large steed's tail. "… pleasantly springy. It's in fine condition. You treat it regularly?" Mr. Ollivander asked appearing pleased.

"Polished it last night," Diggory said, grinning.

The wand-maker conjured a baby seal only to banish it a second later. Harry looked down at his own wand. There were fingermarks all over it. He gathered a fistful of robe from his knee and tried to sneakily rub it clean, but gold sparks leapt from the end of it. Delacour gave him a very patronizing look. " 'Oo should not do zat. Wands like a good polish. 'Oo do not want an angree wand, no?"

Harry dropped his robes sheepishly, cupping his wand. "I'll polish you tonight," he promised to the vibrating piece of wood, and the buzzing subsisted quite suddenly. Harry stared down at his wand having the queerest sensation that Delacour was not speaking figuratively about a wand's feelings.

Diggory returned to his seat beside Harry, and Harry looked up to see a scowling, slouched Krum waiting with his hands in the pockets of his robes as Ollivander stared intensely at his wand.

The wand-maker apparently recognized another's Wandcraft, one by the name of Gregorovitch. Krum's wand was ten and a quarter inches made of hornbeam with a core of particularly thick dragon heartstring, and "Quite rigid," the wand-maker observed. Mr. Ollivander conjured up a number of small, twittering birds with a single spell.

"Good," Mr. Ollivander said, handing Krum back his wand. "Which leaves… Mr. Potter."

Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum, turning his wand over to the wand-maker.

"Aaaah, yes," he said, his pale eyes gleaming. "Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember…"

The Slytherin remembered too. He had tried several wands in the shop before he found the wand that had suited him, remembered the sage words spoken so long ago. At present, the wand-maker was spending a tremendously long time examining Harry's wand, much longer than he had with the others. Harry was very fond of his wand, and as far as he was concerned its relation to Voldemort's wand was something that couldn't be helped—rather like Harry couldn't help being related to Petunia Dursley.

"…I remember that you went through a number of wands before this one chose you. Holly and a tail feather of a phoenix, precisely eleven inches long. An unusual combination…" He gently flexed Harry's wand. "Supple. However, it does not appear that you have ever polished your wand, Mr. Potter," the wand-maker said with disappointment.

Harry flushed. "I'll do it tonight," he murmured.

"_Lumos Solem!_" Mr. Ollivander cast, and a bright beam of sunlight burst out of the tip of Harry's wand and then disappeared. "Despite the disregard of a basic tenet of Wand Maintenance, your wand is in perfect condition. You will do well to cherish the time you have with it." Harry's wand was offered to him in a gentle two-handed grip.

Curious at the wand-maker's words, Harry took his wand to holster it and took his seat.

"Thank you, champions," the headmaster said, "You may return to your lessons—or considering the time, it may be quicker to head to the Great Hall as dinner will be served shortly."

With the three champions around him, Harry went downstairs to the Entrance Hall and entered the Great Hall. He sat alone at the Slytherin table, since Krum had to go back to his ship. There were a great many more badges reading _HARRY THE FAIRY _everywhere he looked, which reminded him to challenge Draco the moment he saw the prat. Across the Great Hall, Diggory was raising a fuss at his house's long table. With an exaggerated motion, he ripped something off another's robes, tossed it into the air, and Transfigured it into a bird, which immediately went chirping out the hole in the ceiling where the owls came in.

Before Slytherins trundled in filling up the benches around him, Harry caught sight of the pile of badges Diggory had swiftly collected from his housemates. By the sharp movement of his arms, he seemed quite incensed by them.

Theodore and Sally-Anne greeted Harry, telling him how Potions class went. It was Draco who ended up poisoned, not Neville, since his antidote had failed to completely counteract it. Godfather and godson were likely at the infirmary by now, which explained Draco's absence. When the Durmstrang students arrived, they segregated themselves from the Slytherins by sitting at the last table closest to the door.

Harry ate silently, while Theodore relayed the different strategies that their housemates had devised to use against the dragons. Of course, his friend first had to explain what each of the breeds were and how they behaved. Harry hoped he would face the Welsh Green. They were of average intelligence and smaller than the other breeds.

Draco and his two escorts were not seen throughout the entirety of the meal. Snape should have counteracted the poison by now, if he hadn't already pre-brewed the antidote. Harry hoped that meant that Draco was having his ears scorched by a condescending lecture about stealing ingredients from Snape's potions store and the consequent misuse of Polyjuice Potion.

After dinner, Harry excused himself from his friends' company to hurry ahead of the group to the dungeons and then through the common room. Passing a couple of small first years on his way up the tower stairwell, Harry entered his shared room and pulled out the Broom Servicing Kit from the bottom of his trunk. He pulled Fleetwood's High-Finish Handle Polish from the kit… Interrupting his thoughts, a barn owl tapped noisily against the window by his bed. Harry strode over to it, opening the window to let it in from the cold. It hopped onto the small table next to his bed and held its leg out patiently. He untied the letter from it and then let the owl back outside. He unrolled the parchment and read:

**Harry—**

**I can't say everything I would like to in a letter. Ever since the World Cup, the Ministry's been intercepting more and more owls. We need to talk face-to-face. Meet me in the Slytherin common room at midnight this Saturday night. And make sure you're alone.**

**-Sirius**

_That would be tomorrow_ _after a heavy course of brewing potions_, Harry thought irritably and then blinked. What was Sirius thinking entering the Slytherin house when Severus Snape was out for his blood? Well, if the wizard was mad enough to break out of Azkaban to try to catch Pettigrew himself, then a letter from Harry wouldn't dissuade his godfather.

Harry cast an Ever-Burning Jinx on the parchment as he did with any of his godfather's correspondence. It would be too easy for his roommates, especially one particularly nosy Draco, to dig through his things and notify Snape of such a meeting. Behind him, the door opened. Harry spun to face the door.

"Malfoy, I challenge you to a duel." The winces were becoming less pronounced, yet Harry couldn't help the immense satisfaction he received from them. "And if you ever collect my hair to use in your filthy fetishes again, I won't bother giving you a warning before I send you to the infirmary."

"I accept your challnege, your Grace, and beg your forgiveness," Draco bowed much more deeply and respectfully than Harry thought was possible from the prat. Crabbe and Goyle moved to the floor taking Gobstones out to play.

"You don't get out of this so easily. Because of you, everyone thinks I'm bleeding gay. How am I going to ask anyone out, if they laugh at my face when I try?" Harry slammed his jar of broomstick polish onto his desk, causing Draco to jump. Yanking out his chair, Harry sat and pulled out his wand, before he was interrupted by Draco timidly clearing his throat. "What?" He snapped. "And before you even suggest it, no, I won't go to the Yule Ball with anyone you recommend."

There was a look of melodramatic horror on the prat's face. Harry saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. "No, that's not what—you can't use broomstick polish on a wand!" Draco blurted out, looking as if he might snatch Fleetwood's polish from Harry's hands.

"Then what do I use?"

Eager to please, Draco flung himself towards his own desk and snatched up a small jar and a clean Terry cloth. He stared down his nose at the large jar of polish in Harry's hand, until Harry screwed the lid back on and set it down. "I suppose you have no idea how to polish your wand," Draco said. "It takes long, even strokes to do it right."

Before Harry could retort, someone guffawed by the doorway. A tired Theodore rushed forward and then the look of expectation faded when he saw the cloth and polish in Draco's hands. "Oh, bother. And here you've got my hopes up."

While Harry frowned at Theodore, Draco let out a burst of surprised giggling which soon evolved into hysterical laughter.

Hopping up from his chair, Harry snatched the items from the other's grasp. "I think I can manage just fine, thank you," he said sharply. "And it's slander what they say about me, Theo. We won't keep on good terms if you bring it up, even in jest."

"Alright," his friend said. "I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers."

Harry sat down and began to polish his wand, granting it his full attention. He rubbed it unidirectionally with the terry cloth fisted around it.

Theodore whispered, "You should've known he'd find out about it. Even the staff's probably heard the rumors by now."

"You think I was thinking with the head on my shoulders?" Draco scoffed loudly.

Blocking them out, Harry murmured, "Sorry I haven't been polishing you properly. Nobody told me that wands needed it." Harry paused, sensing how the humming changed. "I know. I should have figured that out on my own. I'm sorry."

The stick of wood was vibrating like a cat beneath his fingertips. Harry smiled. Perhaps he would be forgiven…

"HARRY POTTER! DETENTION! DETENTION! DETENTION!"

"Bleeding clock," Harry growled, shoving the polished wand into his holster. He scooped up the heavy packets of Muggle copy paper and headed out. Theodore caught up to him at the portrait-hole.

Once they were walking down the empty main corridor, Theodore said, "So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm too unreliable of a friend to be there when you need me."

"You're there when it counts."

"Rumors of my replacement have been exaggerated then?"

Harry's arms tightened around the thick envelopes. "Malfoy hasn't replaced you. He decided that on his own."

"Well, you're in a bit of bind then. Sally-Anne isn't as well-connected as Draco, though she's working on that. At the moment her only advantage is that he's not well-liked."

"I wouldn't know why anyone would dislike him," Harry said sarcastically. "If he's not destroying a family's livelihood, creating lifelong grudges against me, or disparaging the achievements of witches, he's being an arse to anyone he thinks are beneath him—which is nearly everyone."

"You're angry."

Harry whirled on him. "_You said_, his greatest asset wasn't his connection to his father. _You said_, that I shouldn't keep him at arm's length. I noticed that Malfoy was intensely protective of me and willing to do what I say. He wanted me to trust him… Everything he's done since the time I pushed him out of the way of Buckbeak seemed to point to that. And now I find he's been _shagging my likeness_. Worse, you don't seem the least bit surprised by it."

Levelheaded, Theodore simply asked, "And what does that tell you?"

Harry took in a short breath. His brain skittered over the evidence, refusing to look at it. He had to pretend that it had nothing to do with him before he could even begin dismantle Draco's motivations. When it clicked, Harry was strangely calm. "Draco Malfoy is in love with me."

"Correct."

"And it's not a simple crush; he's beyond that if he's Polyjuicing others to look like me."

His friend nodded. "He's terrified that you'll utterly reject his presence, which makes him… what?" Theodore's blue eyes sharpened.

Harry sighed. "Receptive to anything I say to him. Controllable. Easy to manipulate." He paused in sight of the Alchemy classroom's door. "He offered to teach me Occlumency basics."

"And you said _no_?"

Harry frowned at his friend.

"Right. Well, I wish I could help you with that, but I can only manage rudimentary Occlumency. I guess I'm too simple and straightforward for the mental acrobatics needed." Theodore gave him a side-long look.

"You think I should accept his offer."

"Who better to do so than someone who desperately wants you to survive?"

"Right," Harry said in a clipped manner. The thought of having Draco in his head—no, to allow the depraved prat to see his weakest moments—was only marginally better than Voldemort's journal rising from the dead to insist on ruling the world together.

The door opened. Ms. Oke was wearing another pinstriped pantsuit. Today she wore a bright purple tie with matching high heels. "Hello Potter. And…?"

"Theodore Nott, ma'am, Harry's eye-catching escort." Theodore flourished a bow. "If you don't mind taking Harry back to the Thin Lady's portrait when he's finished, I need to work on the piles of homework that's awaiting me."

"Sure, sure, Nott. I'll take him back when we're done." Ms. Oke stepped back and Harry walked into the fully furnished office that no longer looked like a part of the dungeons. The inside walls had the appearance of varnished redwood siding. Black fabric was hanging from rods giving the impression of windows where Harry knew there would be none. The floor was made of what looked to be polished hardwood, and the ceiling had been covered in smoothed grey plaster. Several chandeliers hung from it throwing off plenty of warm light. There were a few sparsely filled bookshelves, holding trinkets rather than books, and even a fireplace to the left had a fire merrily burning in it. A wooly rug with a hideous color—mustard green—sat before it. There were framed photos sitting on the mantel above the fireplace; some of them moved, while others didn't, an effect that Harry oddly liked.

"I didn't have time to make it homey, but I thought it'd work," Ms. Oke said cheerfully. "So let's get down to business, shall we?" Her high heels clicked noisily against the floor bringing her to her desk.

After Harry sat down holding the packets in his lap, Ms. Oke said she was overall pleased with the Hogwarts curriculum, excepting a few glaring problems. The first one was that there were no Magical Basics class, such as wand maintenance, proper enchanted objects care, and the like. "The fact that you never thought to polish your wand speaks volumes."

"Next year should be the start of a new class that teaches first years that sort of thing," Harry said quietly.

"Wonderful, but we need to fix that now. We won't start with that today, next week maybe." Ms. Oke went on to talk about the extremely haphazard way that Care of Magical Creatures and Defense Against Dark Arts was taught; for the former there was little lesson planning involved beyond a vague theme, and in the latter there had not been a regular teacher since Galatea Merryweather had retired well over thirty years ago. "I've talked to your R.A. to reserve Friday nights for supplemental instruction since you were slapped with eight hours of detention every week for the next three months." She grinned at him. "Did trouble find you?"

"No… I created a dangerous cursed object," Harry half-lied because, while it was his body that had prepared it, it wasn't really him.

Her eyebrows lifted. "Had to be a nasty piece of work to merit such a harsh sentence…"

"Considering this person tried to throw me out a window twice, I thought it was fair."

"Hmm." She smiled. "If anyone tries to pull a stunt like that again, just let me know. I'll deal with the offender myself. Got it? You're my champion now and under my protection."

Harry nodded.

"Back on topic… The last major issue I noticed was that Muggle Studies is an _optional_ class and you're not in it." She leaned back against her desk. "You aren't harboring any blood purist sympathies, are you?"

"No, I didn't take it because I had six years of Muggle schooling before coming here, and then a friend of mine said that the class is more about dehumanizing Muggles rather than learning anything worthwhile. Not to mention Professor Burbage calls _electricity _eleck-trickity, like every other Muggle Studies expert I've come across."

"Oh, the _horror_," Ms. Oke mocked. "So, I'm not wrong if I say that the Oldworlders think that electricity is Muggle magic?"

"Essentially, yes."

"Cute. Just adorable." The ever-smiling principal pushed off her desk to move around it to take a seat. She propped her elbows on the desk, clasped her hands together, and leaned her chin against them. "You're a perfect fit for the Salem Institute, you know."

"I love Hogwarts. Even if I didn't, all my friends are here." _Not to mention that the great Dumbledore is here._ Harry smiled pleasantly. "I wouldn't dream of going anywhere else."

"And after you graduate? What do you plan on doing? Are you getting a job or apprenticeship—or did you want to go to magical college? Because if you wanted extended learning in an all-star institution you won't find it on this side of the Atlantic. "

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You still have another three years before you can apply. There's no rush." She patted the desk, where a line of ball-point pens were stuck into a block of wood. "Now, pull up a chair and get started on the latest innovations in the field of Runic Arts—it'll be different than the medieval long-hand they teach you here. You'll find the coursework in the packet with the protective sigil on it. Oh, and I made a little cubby for you to keep your papers together so you don't have to cart them around." She pointed at a diminutive, plain-looking wardrobe with small metal handles on it at the back of the room. "Any supplies you'll need are also in there."

Even though Harry really want to take a look at what the wardrobe held, he obediently took up the packets and pushed his chair to the cut-away at the front of the desk where he could comfortably pull in. Taking the second packet from the pile, Harry carefully peeled the lip open and pulled out the stack of bright white paper. Some were stapled together, meant to be reading material, he gathered, while others looked like practice sheets.

"I recommend you make copies of the drill sheets in case you screw up. Let me know if you get stuck." With that she pulled a book from a drawer in her desk, toed out of her high heels, and sat on the shag carpeting in front of the fire to read.

And that was how Harry was to spend two hours every Friday evening, doing extra bloody work from the Salem Institute just to stay dual-enrolled.


	10. A Staged Rumble

_**Author's Notes: **Well, this was a fun chapter. Enjoy.  
_

* * *

Admittedly, when Harry woke up early the next morning, he spent some time planning several 'modern' Runic Patterns on sheets of paper. While he carefully applied them with chalk or charcoal depending on whichever required it to the underside of his bed frame, he thought of how Sirius was going to do it, how he was going to sneak into the common room which sat at the bottom of Hogwarts Lake. None of his roommates disturbed him, despite his odd behavior of sliding under their beds to check if the frames had the same runes of gold he saw on his own. Then again it wasn't quite four in the morning yet and they were all fast asleep. Once he'd finished, he pulled on his Spellfast Cloak and left the common room. Neville was waiting by the Thin Lady. They jogged through the corridors, starting their trek at the staircase by the boathouse which would take them to the surrounding grounds. The silence had apparently been excruciating for Neville, until the Gryffindor apologized. When Harry told him not to worry about it, Neville had relaxed about walking in on _that scene_.

Harry decided to prune his misconceptions utterly. "You remember what you said when I said I didn't want to snog girls?"

Neville looked at him timidly. "That you liked blokes…?"

"And I said…?"

"That you didn't want to kiss boys, either."

"And if that hasn't changed," Harry said using a tone that wouldn't frighten Neville despite his annoyance, "Then what did you see?"

Footfalls marked the seconds as they made their first lap around Hogwarts. After a point, they would have to go inside to jog because a huge side of Hogwarts was sheer cliff. "I dunno, Harry," Neville admitted. "In the bathroom, you… it didn't _seem_ like you, but…"

"They looked like me. Did they also declare undying love or some other nonsense that I would never say in a million years?"

"Well… Yeah." Neville looked hounded. "You called me a cry-baby."

Holding out a hand on Neville's shoulder, Harry slowed until they had stopped. "I would _never _say that to you."

Nodding, Neville had to hurriedly wipe his face. "I know but—"

"I told you last year something very important during our birthday. What was it, Neville?"

"Th-there's nothing wrong with crying," his brother said with a hushed tone. "B-but I do it too much."

"Am I a cry-baby?"

"No, Harry. You never cry!"

"I don't cry where anyone can see. Not even around you." Harry tightened the hand on his shoulder. "I don't have the courage to do it, to bare it out in the open."

A sudden hug ensconced Harry, Neville's larger size nearly suffocating. "I'm sorry I couldn't keep my big fat mouth shut. I'm sorry I ever thought it was you," Neville said over his shoulder. "If I ever find you like that again, you're either poisoned by potions or Polyjuiced."

"Right," Harry mustered to Neville's sweaty, smelly armpit. His brother was liable to make it to two meters at the rate he was going, while Harry remained stubbornly short. A few moments later Neville stepped back, and Harry reveled in the cool air that hit his face. He took in a deep breath. "So who did you tell?"

"Hermione, but it wasn't her. Lavender overheard me, and she told Seamus—I think they're dating—and then he told everyone else." Neville cast his eyes to the ground, shifting uncomfortably. "He's got a copy of your biography and reads passages aloud when he wants a laugh."

Finnigan was a lovely piece of work. Harry, conversely, hardly thought about him. "Let's head over to the Whomping Willow. I want to teach you a bit of magic so you won't be overheard again."

"Alright."

They picked up pace again, jogging up the steps to Hogwarts. They darted inside and made a hard left onto the covered bridge. Despite its rickety appearance, it was solid beneath their feet as they ran down the jagged hall. First out, Harry hopped down the final steps and sprinted across the rolling hills, passing the shanty cabin which was down the hill. A longing to visit Hagrid rolled into him as a smoke curled from the chimney. The half-giant was due for a cuppa, something Harry had pitifully averaged a visit about once every year.

Quiet noise filled the air; the soft, eerie sound of branches creaked as they rubbed against each other, overgrown shrubbery softly clapping their leaves and the whisper of ankle-length grass brushing over their neighbors in the hard breeze. Panting noiselessly, Harry moved in a restless way as his sore muscles protested. When he could, he took in a deep breath of fresh air. He loved Care of Magical Creatures and Quidditch for precisely this, for the feeling of inviolate freedom which the outdoors gave him.

Heavy thuds told him Neville had caught up. Unholstering his wand from his thigh, Harry shot him a wry smile. "It's not a Ministry-approved spell, but it works exceptionally well. You should only use it when absolutely necessary."

Neville had already drawn his wand. He nodded. "Only for emergencies then."

After Harry demonstrated the spell a few times, it took Neville about twenty minutes to get a hang of the Silencing Ward, but once he had he was nearly jumping for joy. "I did it!"

"Great! Now, to cancel it a simple _Finite Incantatem _works_, _which is why you don't want to use it where others might see. They could potentially cancel it themselves and eavesdrop for the few seconds it takes for you to realize it's gone."

Neville stuck his wand straight out and slashed it. "_Finite Incantatam._"

Harry winced.

"Wrong again?" His brother said, not looking put off.

"It's in-can-ta-tem."

"_Fienite Incantatem._"

"Fi-ni-te In-can-ta-tem."

"Right." Neville took a deep breath and with look of intense concentration said the words. Harry knew the ward had fallen when the noise of nature became much less muted.

"Excellent. Instead of finishing our jog, why don't we visit Hagrid for a bit and then head to breakfast?"

A grinning Neville nodded and ran ahead of him, pausing to yell, "Race you!"

Harry chuckled, checking to see if his wand was fully seated in his holster before he darted after him. They bounded down the hill to find a humming Hagrid outside spreading seed on his garden, which was filled with squash and gourds. Fat-looking brown hens were pecking on the ground after him

"Hagrid!" Neville called out excitedly over Fang's booming barks. "Look who's here to see you!"

"Who is it, Neville?" Wearing a hairy horrible brown suit, Hagrid turned with a giant tin can as big as Harry in his fist. "'Arry!" Oblivious to Harry's surprise at seeing a checked orange-and-yellow tie, the half-giant cried out, setting the birdseed down. "Come an' 'ave a cuppa! It's bin ages since yeh've visited!" As if a thought had come thundering down onto him like a rock slide, Hagrid stopped, turning. "Yeh do 'ave permission, don't ya, 'Arry?"

"Yes," Harry lied, full well knowing that if Snape talked to Hagrid the half-giant wouldn't be able to shut up about Harry's visit and his gratitude that Snape had let him out. "I've missed your teacakes, Hagrid." That earned him a broad smile from the professor and a suspicious look from Neville.

"Well, what're yeh waitin' fer? Come in."

Hagrid's cabin was as it usually was; one large main room with smaller storage space created by curtaining off the corners. An enormous table with chairs stood in front of the fire, a giant-sized bed with a faded, handmade quilt sat in a corner, and an assortment of drying or dried herbs and meats hung from the ceiling, just like Harry remembered from the three other times he'd visited. Neville eagerly took a stool as Hagrid started to make tea.

As soon as the chipped and mismatched teacups were set before them with a plate of rock cakes, Hagrid said, "So—yer competin'. In th' tournament."

Neville drank his tea and studiously tried to gnaw on a teacake.

"Yes. You've heard that someone Confunded the Goblet of Fire? How someone had used a line sheet of paper that I had written my name on for Muggle school?"

Beneath his bushy eyebrows, Hagrid's black eyes looked worried. "Professor Dumbledore said somethin' about it. Also told that yeh entered yerself." Neville choked on his tea. "It's a blessin' that yer name didn' come ou' twice."

"I would have liked it not to come out at all," Harry said darkly, taking a sip of the scalding tea.

Hagrid sighed heavily, a great bellow of air. "Yer parents wouldn've wanted yeh ter put yer name in."

Guilt lanced through Harry. It wasn't even his fault, and yet…

"Gran's been worried about you," Neville said, his apprehension growing more pronounced. "Strange events already happen around you every year. If she hears you—"

"But she won't, will she?" Harry gave Neville a hard look.

A frown set on Neville's face. He gripped the teacup. "It's not right not to tell her."

"If Professor Dumbledore hasn't told her about it, then I doubt she needs to know. My name wasn't picked from the Hogwarts entrants; Diggory's was. Just leave it at that."

Neville blurted out, "Why would you put your name in anyway?"

"It's not any of your business."

"You _hate_ attention."

"Ron doesn't think so."

"Ron's _jealous_!" Neville exploded, standing up.

"Easy, Neville," Hagrid soothed. "'Arry isn't meanin' ter upset yeh."

The Gryffindor took a deep breath. "Ron's always complaining about how much attention you get and how you don't deserve it. He hates how I stick up for you." Harry stared into his tea. Because of him, Neville and Ron weren't close then. "I'm right, aren't I? It's completely out of character for you, but you go along with what everyone's saying because you learned what happened our second year. Everybody believed what they wanted to believe, instead of _listening_ to you. _Please_ tell us why this is happening, what's going on. I'll believe you."

Harry ran a hand through his hair, discomfort stirring. He couldn't dismiss him as much as he wanted to. "Alright. I'm fairly certain that I sleepwalk and sleeptalk and sleepcast," Harry finally said. "Half the time I don't even know I'm doing it… I'll wake up with my Hogwarts robes on or something gets misplaced. After I was given sleep aids, it hasn't happened again."

Hagrid was eyeing him anxiously. "Blimey, 'Arry. In yer sleep?"

"I know it sounds stupid. Why do you think I don't tell anyone? 'Oh, yes. I _think _I broke through the Age Line and entered myself whilst asleep.' That'd go over well: The Boy-Who-Slumbered-Through-Breaking-Professor-Dumbledore's-Spell. Think on it for a moment, how arrogant that sounds. 'Honestly, professor, I didn't hex him! I was sleeping with my eyes open, like Potter!' 'If you're so good, you ought to try sleeping through all your classes! You'd make better marks.' The depths of mockery and derision would be endless." The tea had cooled sufficiently so he took a great swallow to hydrate his suddenly dry mouth. The crackling fire and Fang's breathing were the only sounds filling the little cabin.

"Neville's righ'. Everythin' seems ter happen to yeh, don' it, 'Arry?" Hagrid looked troubled. "An' the Firs' Task is less than three weeks away." He brushed a hand down his bushy beard, eyes looking away from them. "Ah, but I'm not supposed ter say."

"But Harry's champion now. You've got to give him a fighting chance," Neville pleaded.

"It's agains' th'—"

"It's dragons."

"That's why you didn't want to spoil it!" Neville exclaimed at Hagrid. "You _love _dragons."

A wizard as big as Hagrid should not squirm in his seat. It already appeared overburdened by his size. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat, hands raising the teapot to refill their teacups. The tea was sure to be oversteeped and bitter by the looks of it. Harry added several lumps of sugar.

"Tell us about them?"

"Can't. Agains' th' rules."

"There are three different ones they've brought in," Harry informed his brother.

"Four," Hagrid said through clearing his throat.

Ice dropped into his stomach. "What do you mean _four_?" _Oh. Damn. The Ministry had only planned for three champions… _"What did they add? A Norwegian Ridgeback?" Harry half-joked.

"Naw, th' Ministry didn' want ter use poisonous breeds, no venom, spittin' or otherwise, no noxious breath, no toxic spines. An' with yeh bein' an extra champion they weren't expectin'… Dragons are rare enough as it is, an' non-poisonous ones… well, the sweeter ones live in hard ter reach places, y'see. An' they had ter get nestin' mothers…"

Harry's eyebrows drew down. That wasn't in any of the information he'd been given.

"Merlin's beard! Nesting mothers are rumored to be worse than rutting males! What did they bring in?" Neville was fully leaned over the table now, eyes goggling at Hagrid.

"…seein' as how 'Arry already knew about th' others…" He drained his cup, beetle-black eyes gleaming with fevered excitement. "A Hungarian Horntail." Neville made a noise. "An' th' one they found's a beaut. She has black armored scales like Norbert an' burnin' gold eyes. Shoots fire forty feet—twice as far as th' others, an' th' spikes on her tail are somethin' else."

"And because it's how my luck runs, I'll be the one facing it."

"Lucille. That's what I named her. Lucy for short," Hagrid said proudly. "Charlie let me feed her once."

Trying to ignore the way the Gryffindor's face had lost all color, Harry rubbed his face. "Right."

"Harry," Neville whispered tremulously, "You've jinxed yourself."

"Muggles have a sayin' don't they? Knock on wood." Hagrid seemed quite proud to know this.

"Some Muggles believe that to get a wood fairy's blessings will ward away evil. And if I wanted one, I'd rap my knuckles against your table," Harry countered.

Neville laughed, surprising himself. "That's not how you summon them. If it was, we'd never knock on a door!"

"_Ah_," Hagrid said, "Nasty critters, wood fairies. Worse than termites they are. "

Stomach cramping with hunger, Harry stood up. "Neville and I should go. Thanks for the tea and cakes."

"Thank you, Hagrid."

Hagrid beamed at them, and then his smile faltered. "Be careful, 'Arry. Trouble's afoot."

"I will." The two students left Hagrid's cabin, hearing the faint strains of musical pipes as they climbed up the hill. The air was chillier outside and the misty dawn light had brightened.

Even through breakfast at the Slytherin table with Prefect Tanya Carmine and her two friends as company, Harry's mind wandered back to his godfather. It had not come to a satisfactory solution about his visit. When Harry stood up to go, he was unsurprised that the three fifth years followed. The Thin Lady gave him a look of disapproval when he gave her the password; he wondered what he'd done wrong. It was probably because Harry wasn't supposed to leave the dungeons alone. Drawn to the warmth the fireplace was radiating, Harry sorely stretched on the warm stone floor. While he was regretting that he hadn't done so right after his run, an idea struck. Sirius might use the fire that was always crackling in the hearth. He didn't have to be _physically_ present if he only wanted to meet Harry 'face-to-face' using Floo powder without traveling all the way here, something that Harry had read about in a book when he was researching different magical methods of transportation.

He shook his head at himself. Four years in a school of wizardry and witchcraft, and he still had difficulties imagining simple solutions that involved magic. After he cleaned himself up, he pulled on his Spellfast cloak, attached the dark blue pouch which once held draughts to his belt with a Stickfast Hex, grabbed his bookbag, and then left his dorm for the second time that morning. He greatly missed his Invisibility Cloak and Slytherin's dagger; he wondered when the headmaster would decide he could have them back.

Stepping into the common room, Harry was glad to see that someone was awake. Every one of the fourth-year wizards had slept on despite it being eight in the morning, and Harry was loathe to disturb them when he had trouble enough without a sleeping draught. "Miss Greengrass," Harry directed to the reading third years, staying exceptionally polite. "Would you mind walking with me to the library?"

Astoria, Moss, and Carpenter looked up at him with nearly identical looks of confusion. "Pardon my boldness, your Grace, but are my friends invited on our walk?"

"Yes, you all can come."

"Wait a moment…" Astoria ran up to the doorway of the boy's stairwell and swung her wand at the seventh year's door. "_Flipendo!_" A loud knock echoed through the common room.

Prefect Wynch, looking wide-awake, peered out the door. He blinked at Astoria. "Shouldn't you have gotten Dedworth…?"

"His Grace would like an escort to the library. I thought the Head Boy might provide better defense than three third-year girls," she said with perfectly cool demeanor. "Besides, the Head Girl is terrible when woken up on a weekend morning."

"Er," Harry said. "Sorry, Wynch. I have essays to complete."

Opening the door wider, the seventh year waved a careless hand. Harry had never noticed before but the snake on the Head Boy badge looked strikingly similar to a basilisk. "Jonas, Nim, come out would you? We're going to breakfast early."

Two very large young men, easily a head taller than Wynch—who already towered over Harry—stepped out behind the Head Boy. Harry had never been around the two before so he peered at their robes reading their names: Jonas Stange and Nimoy Qynne.

" 'Ello, champion," Stange said. "Righ' this way." The huge seventh year lumbered past Harry, leading them to the exit. Harry had to take three steps to keep up with Stange's long strides.

"Bye, your Grace!" Astoria's voice chirped after the wizards as they headed out of the common room.

Harry stifled the urge to sigh. "Am I required to have an honor guard now?"

Wynch chuckled warmly. "Come now, champion, you can't be that dense." Qynne and Stange chortled on either side of them. When Harry remained silent, the Head Boy said, "I heard you used a Pimple Jinx on a Gryffindor. There are a few angry housemates rallying behind him… We wouldn't want you to have to meet your First Task weakened after a magical ambush, your Grace."

Startling at the sound of someone three years his senior using a title with him, Harry shook his head. "Wynch, why does everyone call me that?"

"You're a duke among lowly commoners," he answered simply.

"I think you might have me confused with Malfoy," Harry said making a face. "I'm obviously _not_ royalty, and there's nothing _graceful_ about me."

The three seventh years chortled as if he'd made a joke. "To be more precise, I imagine that blood purity has nothing to do with it… though I can't speak for everyone, of course. What _I_ see in you is Merlin potential. Like the great Merlin, you remain humble, kind, and merciful, even to your enemies. You could have laid several curses on that Gryffindor instead of just the one, but you didn't. It is that very restraint which won my adherence to your cause some years ago."

"_Cause_?" Harry said distastefully, peering at the older teenager's back.

The Head Boy stopped at the foot of the stairs that would carry them to the Entrance Hall and turned to Harry. "Why, removing the scourge that has plagued our House for centuries."

Tilting his head back, Harry's green eyes met amber ones. "I don't understand what you mean."

Wynch bent and sat onto some steps. Harry was a little taller than eye-level with him. "You are knitting the fracture within our House between those who recoil from the lure of the Dark Arts and those who submit to it. With your audacious nerve and spirited integrity, you've revealed to even the most average of Vipers that it is possible to follow a different path, one that leads neither to the heart of Azkaban or into extreme poverty."

Harry digested the seriousness of his words. "How do you mean?"

"Not many places accept Dark wizards due to the discrimination against us. If we aren't brilliant potioneers or have wealthy sponsors, those of us with an ounce of integrity get paid slave wages compared to others in similar employment. Can't raise a family, let alone make a decent living, unless we live like thugs. And, politics?" The Head Boy shook his head. "The moment we're found to hail from the House of Vipers our political campaign is done."

Mouth dry, Harry whispered, "All I wanted was to be taken for who I am, not which House I was placed in. I didn't do anything special."

Wynch gave him a thoughtful nod. "Then you hadn't noticed that tensions between our House and others have steadily lessened each year you've been here. That even ordinarily antagonistic Slytherins uphold your Code of Ethics, casting magic only in retaliation or giving fair warning before striking? That a well-placed charm can be as equally effective as a hex or curse when deterring bullies?"

Overwhelmed by the ripple effect of his actions, Harry shook his head.

The Head Boy gave him a light smile. "It's November, and I've only given out three detentions to a repeat offender. The other prefects reported similar numbers to our Head of House. Do you realize how remarkable that is?"

"I—I hadn't actually noticed anything," Harry said feeling his face burn. He'd been too preoccupied with his own problems. "I'm a bit thick when it comes to these things."

"I know," Wynch said, straightening. He began to take the steps up, and Harry followed feeling as though he were slogging through a bog. "But… that's not a bad thing if you have proper advisors to keep you informed of the goings-on."

"Are you… offering?" Harry looked at the wizard beside him. He could do with more allies… but surely there was a catch?

"If you'd have me, your Grace," Wynch said.

"Well," Harry said, unsure of how he suddenly found himself in this position.

"You don't need to answer now and I won't be offended if you decline."

"You're not a mind-reader, are you?" he frowned, trying to detect a niggling sensation yet feeling none.

Wynch gently touched Harry's shoulder to stop his ascent and then dropped his hand. "Your Grace, even first years can read and understand your true intentions. That's why our younger Slytherin brothers and sisters hold you in such reverence. We've all been trained from a young age to hide our true selves behind a myriad of masks in order to thrive in this cruel world; yet, you, who have faced narrow-minded intolerance from your own blood-kin, boldly wear your heart on your sleeve. You live in a daring manner bucking the customs of our House and thumbing your nose at authority without being obnoxious about it, unlike others I could name."

Momentarily speechless, Harry stared at the worn stone steps. He hated being reminded of the dark days with the Dursleys and how Harry, though necessarily compliant then, now refused to be cowed by anyone ever again. If everyone could read him so easily, why would they bother looking up to him? He began to climb the stairs again. "If even first years know what's on my mind, that means I'm not terribly cunning," Harry murmured, wishing he was no longer having this conversation.

Stange snorted and Qynne scoffed, startling Harry. He'd gotten so wrapped up with his conversation with Wynch that he'd forgotten they were there, which was funny since they weren't exactly hard to miss.

"I know the truth behind Malfoy's escapades."

Harry stopped again, looking at the steps remaining before him.

"It wasn't right of him. He overstepped a boundary that shouldn't have been spanned, and I'm sorry to hear about it."

"Why are you apologizing for it? You didn't brew the potion or help him with it."

"No, I didn't, but arses like him make us look bad."

"Us?" Hary peered over his shoulder with marked confusion.

"If I told you…" The Head Boy was shifting in an insecure manner like he had second thoughts, remaining where he was a few steps below Harry.

"Told me what?"

"That I may never marry because of my exclusive attraction to wizards, what would you say?"

Harry very nearly stumbled as he spun around so as not to be rude. "Er—" he said awkwardly, "Why would I say anything at all? It's hardly any of _my_ business who you choose to bed."

"And I suppose you have no idea the rarity of your non-judgmental perspective, especially after having a bad experience," Wynch said.

"Malfoy is a despicable prat with vile pastimes and delusions of grandeur. Besides, why should my opinion matter? I don't live your life. I don't need to know whose bits you like to be your friend."

Harry hadn't realized how tense the Head Boy had been until he'd relaxed enough to smile again. "Well met. Come, your Grace. We'll get a quick bite to eat before we take you to the library."

They entered into the Great Hall through the Entrance Hall where various students were milling about at their respective tables. When Harry saw the badges flash _HARRY THE FAIRY_ and heard the Gryffindors' laughter, instead of glaring he smiled at them. Several of them fell quiet, leaning over to mutter at one another and to shoot irritated looks at him. _Yes, you arses, I don't care about your poorly researched insults, _Harry thought, smile curving into a smirk.

Sitting next to Wynch, Harry quietly read the assigned pages for History of Magic, while they ate. Or at least he attempted to. If the Head Boy was to be believed, Harry had inadvertently taught his housemates that being a Slytherin didn't mean you had to act like a prat like Draco. Harry decided that he would stop pathetically flailing about like a hapless fly caught ointment and make use of his influence. The thought of acting like the role-model to inspire common decency in the rest his housemates filled him with a strange sort of joy, giddy at the edges and proud in the middle. It was not a sensation he was familiar with, yet it felt _right_.

It wasn't long before he led the group of seventh years to the library. After he spent several hours there, he headed to lunch, where he learned that Rita Skeeter had published an article of him in the _Daily Prophet. _The copy had come from an unlikely source.

"Harry, I thought you might like to know," Luna Lovegood said, thrusting her arms out towards him with the day's edition of the newspaper.

In the courtyard adjacent to the Great Hall and surrounded by dewy-eyed Slytherin first years, Dennis had gasped when a Ravenclaw used the champion's first name. Harry took the folded newspaper from her. "Thanks. Do I owe you money for it?"

"It's rubbish anyway, since I've never seen your eyes glisten with the ghosts of your past," she said with the light, airy tone of a dreamer. "I only wanted to see what it had to say about you. Well, I have to go now; I hope we'll talk later." And then she turned and left without waiting for a response.

Harry unfolded the newspaper and saw that his photograph was on the center of the front page.

"What's it say, Harry?" Dennis asked with excitement.

The photograph of Harry hardly moved where he stood, looking solemn and dashing with a bare hint of a smile beneath soulful eyes; Harry was very glad that he'd put his foot down about posing. He thought he might have looked like an arrogant twit. Above the goblet-shaped photo in very bold letters were the words 'Teenage Tragedy: Harry Potter and the Quadwizard Cup'.

_ Harry Potter, age 12, is a suspect entrant in the recently renamed Triwizard Tournament. An ugly scar, a souvenir of a tragic past, disfigures his otherwise charming face. His green eyes glisten with the ghosts of his past as our easy conversation turns to the parents he can't even remember. "I expect they'd be proud of me. I know that they'll be watching over me during the tournament," the Hogwarts Champion says, choking back tears, "I'm not ashamed to admit that sometimes I cry about them at night." When asked about his reaction to being removed from his abusive Muggle relatives, Potter responds graciously. "I'm thankful every day that Professor Snape had the presence of mind to report my abuse to the proper authorities. I sometimes wish Mrs. Longbottom hadn't contested his adoption of me. I rather liked living with him; he's really not as bad as they all say."_ _At that he gives a teary smile, revealing the pitiful state of his self-worth. _

_ It is a sad sight indeed to see this youth so tortured by his past. Due to his mistreatment, he can't stand the sight of a broom cupboard without going to pieces. Was it the trauma of his past that made him keen to enter such a dangerous tournament? One wonders whether his parents, were they alive, would have truly been proud… or concerned about his attitude, which at best represents a pathological need for attention or at worst a psychotic death wish? _

_ At least, young Harry has found love at Hogwarts before his life heartbreakingly expires. His close friend, Dennis Creevey, has informed me that Harry is rarely seen out of the company of one Sally-Anne Perks, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl who, like Harry, is one of the top-ranked students at Hogwarts. In closing, his lack of anxiety for the tasks ahead and his inexperienced level of spellcasting make the choice of him as Hogwarts Champion a story that will end in foreseen tragedy. In the coming weeks, Flour Delicor and Victor Crumb—the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang Champions, respectively—will have their own revealing exposés._

Harry stared at the article for a very long moment, disbelieving what he'd read. Nausea was building within him. He hadn't even talked to Skeeter, let alone said most of these things to anyone, _ever_. There were such gross inaccuracies on top of that that he nearly wanted to rip the paper in half. At least, any mention of risque non-encounters with Draco Malfoy was left out.

"Excuse me," he said to the reverently whispering eleven-year-olds. "I need to go speak to the Head Boy." Harry would talk to Dennis about the evils of gossip some other time.

"O-oh!" "Sorry!" "Why, of course, your Grace!" "Jenny, move!" "I am!" "Hey, that was _my_ _hand_." "Are you hurt, Shastri?" "No, it's fine." Came several voices as the group of ten shifted themselves so that Harry could stand up to lean against a wall and leave their tightknit circle.

Paper crinkling in his tight grip, Harry found the Head Boy perched on a bench in the Great Hall and offered the newspaper to him. After Wynch had read it with Stange and Qynne, he didn't look very concerned as he handed the newspaper back to Harry. "Is the bit about you untrue?"

"I didn't even _talk_ to her. Not to mention that she didn't even print that I'm actually the Salem Institute's Champion and that Cedric Diggory is the Hogwarts champion; the Hufflepuffs are going to think that's my fault," Harry said darkly.

"It could be worse," Qynne said over Wynch's shoulder.

"Yeah," Stange growled.

"I can't see how much worse it could be," Harry said.

"Could've made ya out to be a Dark Wizard," Stange clarified.

Harry looked at the seventh year blankly. "I'm a Potter. From what I've heard, my family has always been more aligned to the Illume Arts."

"And Sally-Anne Perks is a pureblood," Qynne pointed out, "Do you really think that _facts_ matter all that much to the _Daily Prophet's_ most popular gossip columnist?"

"But…" Harry glanced down at the article. Not even in his worst nightmares had he dreamed of telling anyone any of the things he was supposed to have told the woman.

"She could have fixated on your survival of the Killing Curse, the ominous portent of your Sorting into Slytherin, or even the unfounded rumor that you set the basilisk on the other students," Wynch said absently. He thumbed through the pages of the book he'd been reading. "She could have made you out to be the next Dark Lord to stoke the public's opinion _against_ you, instead of inspiring pity and compassion as she has done here."

Harry supposed it _could_ be worse. "What about the Hufflepuffs? What am I supposed to do with them?"

"I say let the Badgers work out some of their pent-up frustrations. Merlin knows they've been stewing about their lack of fame for years," came the blasé reply.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. He stood there quietly for a few more moments, wondering if he should even bother asking a rather pointless question that was irking him.

"Go on, your Grace. I'm listening," Wynch said.

"Why does she report only my name correctly? I'm fourteen, not twelve. And, she can't even get the other two Champions' names right."

"Ah, so you've noticed that the Anglicized names of the foreign-born champions, have you? It does seem rather contradictory if you didn't understand that it was meant to carry xenophobic and nationalistic fervor in a few tiny mistakes…"

Harry only understood that there were deeper politics at work here.

Qynne winked and held a hand to the side of his face to cover his lips from curious onlookers. "Rita Skeeter's in the pocket of Lucius Malfoy," he whispered conspiratorially.

"If that's true, why _isn't_ this article worse?"

"Why would the likes of him hold a grudge against a fourteen-year-old?" Qynne shot back suspiciously.

"Well," Harry said swallowing nervously, "I _did_ sort of trick him into freeing his house-elf. And now Dobby works for me."

Qynne's jaw dropped in shock and Stange barked out a laugh, thumping Qynne's shoulder. "Get a load of this. His Grace don't think he belongs among us, when he's standin' here in one piece after hoodwinkin' _Lucius Malfoy_." Stange continued to chortle finding this very amusing.

"I wouldn't be here if Professor Snape hadn't interfered. I was twelve and had no idea what I'd done," Harry said grimly.

With that, the amusement wiped off all three of their faces.

"Well, that explains the incorrect reporting of your age..." The Head Boy said dryly, his eyes no longer on the tome in his hands.

"What does it _mean _exactly?"

"It means, your Grace, that the current Malfoy Patriarch remembers your slight against him. It is a warning that in no uncertain terms are you take this puff piece by Rita Skeeter as an indication of an open invitation to attempt to end the feud between your families. May I see that article again?"

Harry handed it over to him.

Wynch's eyes ran back and forth as they quickly skimmed the contents again, flipping to the pages needed to read the rest and then returned the newspaper. He pursed his lips in thought, looking distant.

Harry was edgy, bouncing on his toes as he waited.

Finally Wynch said, "He is very eager to see that you tragically perish in your attempt to complete the three tasks set ahead of you."

"Do you think he hired someone to sneak in and drop my name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"I don't believe so… Other than his public support of the tournament, he kept his fingers out of the planning and implementation phases. Bartiemus Crouch, the man in charge of the event, would have put an immediate stop to it had any of Malfoy's supporters offered their help. Saying there's no love lost between Malfoy and Crouch is putting it mildly."

"How do you know all that?" Harry asked.

"One never reveals their sources, especially to one whose mind is open to strangers. After all, you haven't yet argued that what Rita Skeeter published was untrue, have you?"

Harry scowled. "Is she a Legilimens?"

"If she is, she's unregistered," he said. "I'm surprised you haven't asked Professor Snape for lessons in Occlumency yet, when you seem to hold him in such regard." The Head Boy flicked his eyes to the newspaper.

"Would you know _anyone_ _else_ who might be able teach me?"

The Head Boy chuckled. "Would you be able to trust a common Occlumency tutor not to sell the contents of your mind to someone like Rita Skeeter?"

Harry exhaled loudly, not willing to disclose why exactly it would be an unwise decision on his part to allow Snape into his mind. "You're suggesting that I trust _him_, someone who worked for my sworn enemy?"

"Have _you_ heard of a book deal detailing an ex-Death Eater's two-year account of raising the Boy-Who-Lived?" Wynch paused, while Harry scowled. "No? Me either, even though such a book would be a guaranteed bestseller. I'd wager my life's savings that someone's tried to badger him. Fat lot that did for them when it backfired."

"I can't trust him. Lord Vole's—"

There was a choked spluttering from Qynne and Stange. Wynch's expression merely remained attentive.

"—going to rise from his grave _sooner_ rather than later. I just as soon spill all my secrets to that vole-faced murderer than have that greasy-haired git betray me." Because obviously that would be how it would end if Voldemort ever caught the traitor. Better not to give the greasy-haired git more information than was warranted.

"Ah," The Head Boy glanced at the two seventh years on either side of them, lifting an eyebrow at them. Qynne shook his head ever so slightly while Stange rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Harry gave them all a very cross look. "What?"

"If you ever change your mind about lessons with Professor Snape, I can set a meeting with him," Wynch said casually, re-opening his book to read.

Harry found it more than a little maddening. "I am _never_—"

"Harry, did you—oh, sorry, didn't meant to interrupt, your Grace," a tenor voice called from behind him. Theodore had his own copy of the _Daily Prophet._ His friend hesitated at the angry look on Harry's face and then asked politely, "Did you need a hug?"

Tearing the copy from Theodore's hands and smashing it together with the one Lovegood had given him, Harry threw the crumpled ball on the ground and jumped onto it several times.

"That has got to be the most passive-aggressive thing I've ever seen you do," Theodore commented, watching him. "You could have just said no."

Without a word, Harry stalked away from the werewolf, glad that the seventh years hadn't laughed at him. Harry's head was hurting from discovering how many layers of meaning could be woven into one stupid article. He wanted to go to his room and pull the covers of his bed over his head and pretend that none of this was happening to him. He couldn't because that would be irresponsible. He had to fix this or at least do damage control before it spiraled too far out of control.

"I didn't mean to be flippant," Theodore said, catching up with little effort. "Why don't we take a walk to the greenhouses, instead? You look like you need it."

Stalking out the front doors of Hogwarts, Harry didn't say a word as they headed down the steps and across the grassy lawn. Theodore respected that Harry didn't want to talk until they'd entered an empty greenhouse. "You know, once Draco reads his copy, he'll be positively _gleeful_ to see your public endorsement of his godfather."

"I didn't give Skeeter an interview," Harry said shortly.

"Was it all untrue then?"

Harry sighed in agitation. "I just had this conversation with the Head Boy."

"You're not only protecting your secrets, but mine as well," Theodore said, eyes downcast.

"I _know_ I need Occlumency lessons; no, I won't take them from the likes of Snape; no, I'm not going to invite Draco to teach me; no, I don't think I'll be able to trust anyone else to do it either, not even Professor Dumbledore. Happy?"

"With a pessimistic attitude like that I can see why Skeeter wrote that you might have a psychotic death wish."

Pressing his lips tightly together, Harry shot his friend a dark look.

Theodore let out a snort of amusement. "Last year, Draco told me his little theory about why you jumped in front of that enraged hippogriff… and he used a remarkably similar phrase. Chances are he said it around his father, and then that found its way to a gossip columnist."

"I do not have a death wish nor am I psychotic," Harry told him in no uncertain terms.

"Funny, I remember in our second year how you thought you were hearing voices in the corridors."

Harry's shoulders stiffened, and then he frowned, perplexed. "Are you trying to get a rise out of me? Because tha—"

"_Flipendo!_"

Harry immediately dove into Theodore, throwing them both behind a thick wooden table. A window blew out behind them. With a kick of both his feet Harry turned the table next to them on its side, so they might have a little bit of cover. "_Protego_!" He tapped his wand against the table and it glowed. Harry's wand was in his shaking hand; he blinked when he recognized the buzzing noise that always filled his head when he was in the middle of danger. It wasn't _in_ his head; his wand was vibrating. He poked his head out around the table and was nearly hit in the face with a curse. Beside him, Theodore had recovered and held his wand out, leaning against the underside of the table. They exchanged a glance.

"If you distract him, I'll disarm him," Harry hissed through his teeth as more curses sparked against the wood behind them, causing splinters to shower them.

"I surrender!" Theodore said, showing that he had no wand in his hands and Harry immediately shot to his feet, casting "_Expelliarmus!"_

The wand flew from Prefect Renshaw's fist towards Harry, but that didn't do anything about the fifth-year prefect standing next to him.

Theodore let out a muttered oath and they both dove to the ground again as Felix Brunt fired several hexes at them.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Harry shouted at Theodore over the loud bangs firing from Prefect Brunt's wand. The spells scattered uselessly against the table, which Harry tapped again with another protection spell because the other had surely worn out. His friend shrugged unhelpfully.

Harry shoved Renshaw's buzzing wand into the pouch on his belt and then ran his fingers along the only object in it, a half-finished survival pack for the great outdoors. In hindsight, he should have packed charcoal in his pouch. He didn't have anything at hand to precisely draw out the more permanent Runic Patterns for protection.

Brunt's attack was unrelenting as Harry heard him step closer to them. He'd soon be on top of them…

Harry jumped up, in the middle of casting a Shield Charm to deflect whatever Brunt threw at him, and immediately cast an overdone Cheering Charm on Brunt. The older student collapsed into hysterical laughter, but Renshaw grabbed Brunt's wand and Harry had to duck to narrowly miss a nonverbal curse.

"Cover me, Theo," he hissed and then jumped up, running sideways across the greenhouse to provide a moving target. "_Expelliarmus!" _Harry cried out, narrowly missing Renshaw's frame.

"_Petrificus Totalus!"_ Theodore lobbed the spell at the prefect who immediately dropped to the ground when his limbs locked straight.

Harry quickly retrieved Brunt's wand and shoved it into the blue pouch. "What the bleeding hell was that about?" He called over to his friend, while Brunt's hysterical laughter continued in the background.

"Harry!" Theodore yelled, pointing behind him.

Without needing to look to see who it was, Harry tucked his chin and rolled, red sparks raining down on him from the deflected spells hitting his Spellfast cloak. On his hands and knees, he scampered across the earthen floor under the tables, fingernails catching in the dirt. He kicked several thick, heavy tables over in the process and cast shield charms on them. Breathing deeply, Harry took a moment to try to collect his confused thoughts.

Nearly simultaneous blue bolts singed the air above him, coming from different directions now. He had no idea why he was being attacked and didn't really care at the moment. There was no way to tell _how_ many attackers there were, either. Frustrated with trying to think up non-doomed strategies, Harry decided on one particular charm that he remembered Hermione using when she was in a bind.

Aiming his wand upward, Harry harshly yelled "_IMMOBULUS!_" The spell shot out a dome in a blue-white flash, which expanded and dispersed outward in a rolling, crashing wave of light. Waiting a few moments to see if anything else moved, Harry stood up and pressed his lips tightly together at what he saw. All around him were frozen Slytherins in a pincer formation. Prefect Alexandra Sykes, a sixth year, and Prefect Tanya Carmine and three other fifth-year girls had their wands trained above the upended tables that had flimsily protected Harry.

Only their eyes moved as he approached to pluck their wands out of their grip, which he carefully added to his pouch. Suspecting that Theodore was behind the ambush, Harry gave his immobilized year-mate a dark look and then held himself against the open doorway. Slowly, he peeked out around the corner and found more sixth years lying in wait, also frozen. Harry calmly collected their wands and then went around the greenhouse to find an entire contingent of seventh years, except for Qynne, Stange, and Wynch, crouched and ready to storm through the other door.

By the time he'd taken their wands he had close to twenty in his pouch. He returned to Theodore's side and for good measure grabbed his wand as well. "_Finite Incantatem,"_ Harry said, waving the wand over the rigid fourth year. Harry trained their wands on his friend. "Would you like to explain what just happened? Because I don't like being surprised by people I trust."

Theodore raised his hands and quirked a sheepish grin. "A training drill, your Grace. That was first-rate spellwork, and I've only seen Aurors move that fast."

Anger flooded into Harry. He took a deep breath to keep the anger from growing any larger. Snape had to be behind this. It would be just like him. "You are an arse, Theo. A giant. R_uddy_ arse," Harry snarled. When Theodore was about to say something else, Harry tipped the wands at him menacingly. "Are there any others?"

"No, you got them all…" Theo was grinning with pride.

"You will stay here for ten minutes after I release everyone from the Freezing Charm, and then you may enter Hogwarts Castle. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," Theodore said more seriously.

Harry backed out of the greenhouse; wands still trained on Theodore, and then cast a Leaping Charm on himself. Mid-turn, he jumped into the air, so he was facing the greenhouse. "_FINITE INCANTATEM,"_ he cast, waving his wand in a large arc in front of him, aiming at his housemates. There was a muffled whumfph as several older students fell over into a silly pile outside the greenhouse.

When Harry landed, he pulled the cowl up on his Spellfast cloak and continued bounding towards Hogwarts Castle. He enjoyed the feel of the breeze in his hair while his feet were off the ground, almost as if he were flying. The cries of casting filled the air behind him and curses and hexes flashed around him, sparking harmlessly off his cloak. He hadn't thought anyone knew wandless magic. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Landing on the stairs going up to Hogwarts Castle, he felt a rumbling beneath his feet, and Harry looked up in astonishment as the doors opened for him. He canceled the Leaping Charm on himself with tap against his chest and sprinted through the Entrance Hall.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice called as he flung himself down the stairs.

"Is someone chasing you?" Neville's voice sprang up beside her. His voice was already fading behind Harry as he ran down the stairs.

Instinctually, Harry felt it wasn't over. The moment he hit the floor of the dungeon corridor, he accidentally set off a Runic Pentagon which sprung a veritable mass of paper in the shape of rope.

"_Incendio!_" He cried out pointing his wand at the forming bone-white hand reaching for him. The paper disintegrated in a swathe of flames. "_Specialis Revelio_!" He yelled harshly, swinging Theodore's wand at the floor of the corridor.

Every hidden Runic Pattern the spell hit pulsated with light. Before the spell's effects faded completely, Harry ran down the hall, avoiding each trap. Harry again used Scarpin's Revealspell when the lights faded from the floor.

Unfortunately, the heel of his shoe brushed the edge of a Triple Tetradecagon something he'd only ever seen in the Study of Ancient Runes book, and a large amount of black fluid sloshed upward solidifying around his leg. _"Aguamenti!_" When the very brief jet of water from Theodore's wand had no effect on the extraordinarily powerful Runic Pattern, Harry quickly cast with his own, "_AQUA ERUCTO!_" A blast of water with the power of a fire hydrant shot out of the wand's tip throwing Harry backward into the flat wall of the T-intersection that led to the Slytherin House. Coughing when the breath was knocked out of him and again when a crash of water hit him in the face, Harry got unsteadily to his feet and hobbled over to the portrait of woman in emerald flapping a lacy fan at herself.

"You look particularly disheveled tonight," the Thin Lady said crisply.

Soaked to the skin, Harry was panting and trembling from the effort of running and casting so many spells in rapid succession. While his muscles were protesting every movement, he was in too foul a mood to waste time with useless chatter. "_Inheritance_!"

The Thin Lady curtsied at him and the portrait swung open. Harry hobbled through, a wand in each hand, in case someone else might try to hex him.

When he hurried down the common room steps, a hush fell over his housemates. Nobody moved to greet him, not even Dennis Creevey, who must've had second thoughts when Harry glared at him.

Without knocking to gain entrance to the Head of House's Office, Harry slammed it open and stalked towards the dour-looking wizard sitting behind the desk, who raised an eyebrow at his rude entrance. Harry held both wands in his left hand as he ripped off the soaked pouch from his belt, Harry opened it and dumped the contents out. Along with a large splash of water, the confiscated wands clattered to the desk. While his hand was in there, he felt for any more sticks of wood; there wasn't anything in it. He shoved Theodore's wand into the pouch and drew the strings together.

After waving his wand over his desk to dry the water, Snape met Harry's furious glare calmly. Harry glowered at him. "Care to explain, Potter?"

"Out with it," Harry demanded. "You set them on me, didn't you? You put them up to this, attacking me in the greenhouse and then had them line Runic Patterns across the dungeon's main corridor!"

Both of Snape's eyebrows rose in response. He looked down at the wands and studied them briefly, amusement seeping into his stoic features. "Twenty? You defeated twenty seventh, sixth, and fifth years…?" A pleasantly surprised smile curled Snape's thin lips.

Harry snarled, "Don't act dumb! This was your idea!"

Steepling his fingertips together, Snape's black eyes glittered. "As entertaining as that would have been to organize and watch, I unfortunately cannot claim ownership for this. Obviously, their strategist didn't expect much from you this time."

Harry stared at him. "_This_ time?"

"Most certainly there will be a second round."

He made a loud wrathful noise, swinging his arms around and grasping tightly at the air. He began to pace from one side of the narrow, long room to the other.

Smile gone but amusement remaining, Snape discreetly picked up the wands and tucked them into his desk.

Harry spun on his foot throwing his arm out. "There won't _be_ another time. _You're_ going to tell them to stop this!"

"Am I now?" Snape drawled as he stood up, watching him. "And why would I do that?"

Harry stopped pacing suddenly, sodden cloak thumping against him, and stared at his Head of House.

"Even if," the Potions Master continued as he clasped his hands behind his back, "Given adequate incentive, why would I desire to do so? Obviously their games are harmless." Walking calmly around the imposing desk, Snape gave him nasty smile. "Otherwise your precious Lionsnakes would have protected you, _your Grace."_

"You're _enjoying_ this." Harry's face twisted not entirely sure which emotion it wanted to express most, disbelief, fury, or confusion. "Right. I shouldn't have expected any help from _you._" Harry spun on a foot his cloak whipping out behind him and stormed back towards the office door. "I'll take care of it myself!" He yelled over his shoulder, and nearly ran face first into the closed office door. Aiming his wand at the lock, he cast, "_Alohomora!" _The door opened, but when Harry moved forward it nearly slammed shut on his foot. He cast the Unlocking Charm again and lunged at the door before it could close; the wooden planks slapped him in the gut and he was thrown back to the floor. Even though he wanted another go at the door, Harry lay there, exhausted and breathing hard.

"You will stay here until you have regained your composed objectivity, Potter. In the meantime, feel free to continue battling my door."

"For your information, I was going to head straight to my room, clean myself up, and go to bed, you overprotective bat!" Harry would _never_ attack his housemates while angry. The risk of death was too high.

The greasy-haired bastard calmly sat in one of the chairs set before his desk, facing Harry. "I do wonder why someone as esteemed as yourself would petition a lowly Head of House for assistance in such a trivial matter, when you can't even trouble yourself when a spark of effulgence does exit your pea-sized brain…"

"What've I done now?" Harry said wearily.

"Don't act stupid. You and your friends knew what you were doing when you petitioned the headmaster directly, bypassing _my_ authority."

Harry took a very deep breath, staring at the barrel-vaulted ceiling above him. "You're sore that I didn't tell you about the Wizard Studies class," he said flatly. "Look, I didn't cut you out of the process to spite you; I honestly thought you'd block it because of Black's escape last year."

A bitter grimace spread over Snape's sallow features after his cheek twitched at the mention of Sirius. "Get out of my office." He dismissively waved a hand at the door, and it opened.

Staring out the door, Harry's thoughts roiled around. Even though he was still miffed at his friend for pulling that 'training drill', he was worried. If Skeeter could easily skim memories from Harry, what would happen to Theodore if his secret was found out? A lot of things and none of them good, his brain supplied.

"Actually," Harry said coming to a gut decision as he pushed himself off the floor. "I need to ask you for a favor."

"And _what_ would that be?"

"To teach me Occlumency, sir." Chilled to the bone, Harry cast a quick Drying Charm and then a Warming Charm on himself.

Studying Harry for a long moment down his equally long nose, Snape asked, "What do you think I could impart when Augusta failed at the same task?"

Harry suppressed the urge to sigh. "I didn't _fail_. She only taught me to clear my mind with meditation while holding odd poses. But I'm not very good at it; I was hoping… I'd have better luck with a more _hands-on_ approach."

He was studied for another moment, as long fingers rapped against the arm of a chair. "No."

"No?"

Snape gave an irritated sigh. "It is a rather hopeless task to learn if one is unable to separate oneself from an unrelenting tide of thoughts and emotions. Speak to Lovegood. Only when you have mastered the theoretical aspects will I even entertain the possibility of tutoring you."

"You want me to go meditate with Luna?" Harry thought that was a very strange demand.

Snape gave him a murderous look. "No, you imbecile," he sneered at Harry's baffled look and spoke more slowly, "_Express_ your inability to grasp the _fundamentals_ and _request her assistance_."

"Oh." Harry stood up, glancing at the door. "And then I may ask you again?"

"_Get out_."

"Right. Sorry," he said and left the office, the door of which slammed so soundly behind him that his ears popped.

Theodore and the others who'd jumped Harry in the greenhouse were waiting in the short corridor.

"He has your wands," Harry told the older years, many of whom did not look very happy about that. "Don't worry; I kept yours, Theo."

"Can I have it back?"

"No." As Harry ran up the stairwell to his dormitory, he grinned to himself imagining Snape's barbed lecture to the older years about being defeated by a single fourth year. At the fourth door, he entered, strode across the room, and fell onto his bed.

"Are you holding my wand hostage?" Theodore's voice sounded uncommonly nervous behind him. Harry ignored him, breathing in the smell of his covers.

In the bed over, Draco snorted in amusement. "How badly did he beat you all?"

"Less than two minutes, the Head Girl made note of it when we became Immobilized."

"I told you it wouldn't work."

Harry rolled over and sat up, glaring at Draco. "You knew and you didn't think to tell me?"

"I only discovered the plan during lunch. I walked by your little group three times."

"Could've been louder about it," Harry groused. Reflecting on his decision to ignore Draco, Harry thought he shouldn't do that again, even if being near him made his skin crawl.

"Why? You saw me, but you seemed happy to snub me for firsties." Unexpectedly a wry smirk came onto Draco's face. "Very paternalistic of you. Countless girls were avidly watching you."

Harry shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything? Warn me next time, even if I don't want to talk to you."

"Of course, your Grace."

With a sigh, an exhausted Harry flopped back onto his bed, whose frame he had recently added with several protection runes, an Inverse Octagonal Rune of Silence to hold in noise, and a Torpor Runic Triangle with a key adjustment to deactivate by a quarter to midnight; he would change it when he wasn't having a clandestine meeting with his godfather. Harry had been surprised to see that his bed and the others already warded against various evils with the same golden runes at prime placements engraved into the wood in all four directions. He wondered who was responsible for them.

His eyes slipped close. Before the Torpor Rune activated, he sat up, swinging his feet over the edge. "Dueling's tonight, isn't it?" Theodore nodded at Harry. "Then I don't have detention. _Great._" Harry hopped out of his bed and sat down at his desk, working through reading assignments and several essays that were due next week. Sunlight was waning by the window, when a shadow cleared his throat.

Harry worked out the crick in his neck, rolling his shoulders, and sagged against the chair. "What, Malfoy?"

"Dinner will be served in half an hour, your Grace."

Satisfied with the amount of work he'd completed, Harry stood up and pulled the vest and jacket ensemble down again. He had to wonder what charms Draco had placed on it to prevent wrinkling. "Theo."

His friend leaned back to peek around Crabbe's desk. "Hmm?" He blinked several times. "Oh, is it already time to eat? _Fantastic_." Throwing his quill down, Theodore adjusted his robes and set out behind Harry to the Great Hall. "May I have my wand back yet?"

"No."

When the food finally arrived, Harry was careful not to eat everything in sight. He didn't need his stomach filled to bursting when it was his turn to duel. Sally-Anne was looking forward to tonight. Before long, they were heading back into the common room, and the sight of the dueling stage sent an unpleasant twist to Harry's belly.

Snape reiterated the same rules Harry had heard years previously, before he stepped to one side of the dueling stage and Wynch stood at the other. Harry was not as familiar with the second-years, owing to the fact that he'd missed their sorting when he'd spent the night in the infirmary. Two wizards, Gupta and Newbourne, stepped up and began as soon as they were told. Their spellwork was absolutely shoddy, but the drive to better their opponent was plain for anyone to see. Even though Newbourne seemed the better caster, he embarrassingly hadn't paid attention to where he was and took a misstep right off the edge of the dueling stage.

Next were two witches, Parangyo and Bainbridge. Their spellwork was better than their year-mates, but it was obvious that they were only there to practice defensive and offensive magic. When Bainbridge cast a reflection spell, Harry drew his wand just in case. Parangyo's next spell ricocheted off and smacked her in the chest. She flew back skidding across the stage, stopping before she fell off. When she stood up and attempted to cast, her voice didn't work. The headboy stepped in and forfeited the duel to Bainbridge, owing to the Parangyo's mute spell backfiring.

Every third year dueled nearly every other one as if they were in a dueling competition. The best duelists of the year were Roy Harper, Astoria Greengrass, and Flora Carrow. Pike Lestrange was an honorary mention. If he was only a bit more confident in himself, Flora Carrow might not have nailed him with a Sidestep Jinx and sent him tumbling off the stage in his moment of hesitation.

"Perks and Malfoy."

Head held high, Draco mounted the stage on his godfather's side, while Sally-Anne took the other. As soon as they had bowed to one another, Snape said, "Begin."

Draco struck first with a Nail-Growing Curse, and then Sally-Anne performed a bit of advanced magic. Nonverbally, she summoned up a Shield Charm with a flick of her wand, and the curse scattered against it uselessly. Draco threw spell after spell, and yet against someone who could perform a defense nonverbally it was useless. She was twice as fast at casting. Harry quite suddenly realized he needed to learn nonverbal magic before Draco managed it.

Sweat was beading down Draco's face. He was more composed than Harry expected against an immovable object, and then even more incredibly Sally-Anne lobbed a jet of red light at her opponent without casting. Halfway through _Protego_, Draco was knocked back, flipping feet over head and sliding the rest of the way. His feet hung over the edge of the stage, and he stood up. Harry would not have patiently waited like Sally-Anne. Draco ran forward, evading another jet of light. He cast a Dancing Feet Spell, as another jet of light shot down towards his feet. He jumped, and the spell sparked to pieces on the dueling stage. His spell nearly hit her, if not for the split-second Shield Charm glowing into existence.

Draco grit his jaw down and then did something nobody expected. He holstered his wand and bowed. "I submit to my better."

Their Head of House clapped, and soon the common room was filled with applause. "Malfoy has forfeited the duel. I concede the match to Perks."

A cheer erupted beside Harry; Pansy, Daphne, Tracey, and Bulstrode were shouting praises to Sally-Anne who didn't bat an eye as she left the stage and joined them. They surrounded her and followed her up the girls' staircase, chatting with excitement.

"Malfoy and Potter." The common room suddenly hushed, and awed silence descended.

Theodore patted Harry on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Even though Harry knew his skill was greater than Draco's, trepidation filled him. He hoped Draco would not try to taunt him during the match. They met in the middle, swiping their wands out, and bowed. Draco said not a word, but his expression already looked defeated.

They stood at the opposite ends of the dueling stage, and yet only Harry stepped into a form ready to cast. Draco had holstered his wand.

"Begin."

Harry paused, mid-cast. He half-lowered his wand. "Really, Malfoy? If you aren't going to duel, then give up."

"Then that would defeat the purpose of this duel."

Looking past Draco, Harry saw his godfather with his arms crossed, a dark, nearly matte wand tucked in the crook of his black robes. Whether it was at the ready for Draco or his opponent, Harry wasn't sure. "Don't be stupid. Draw your wand."

Draco instead raised his arms out from his sides and knelt. "I am at your mercy."

The silence around them electrified. They were probably dying to know how Harry would respond.

"Have it your way. _Cantis._"

Fluent Italian burst from Draco in a falsetto voice, a one-man opera full of vibrato. Harry didn't need to know what he was saying to understand; his defeated posture begged for forgiveness, his demeanor cried out to have the rapport they once had.

"Get off the stage, Malfoy," Harry said when there was a short pause in the singing when the prat took a breath.

A moan of despair was vocalized through the newly started singing of a tenor as Draco clutched his chest as if he had been stabbed. He held out both hands as if they were covered in blood, moving to stand.

With crisscrossing slashes of his wand, an annoyed Harry cast, "_Everte Statum!"_

Still singing, Draco flipped over backwards. He squawked when he landed heavily. Harry quelled the intense satisfaction he got from the sight of it. The power he had over Draco was heady, nearly overpowering. Instinctively, he knew it was dangerous, knew that Draco had succumbed to the same state of superiority years ago. Harry would not allow pride to get the better of him.

"I don't wallop defenseless arses, even if I do hate them. Either take out your wand or step off." Hoarse Italian flowed when his roommate finally caught his breath. The nitwit shifted until he was prostrating himself before Harry. Harry's lips curled with disgust at the flat, shrewd look Snape was directing at him. He must think Harry was enjoying this. "…Your public groveling sickens me, Malfoy. If you seek my forgiveness, this isn't the way to go about it." Harry stepped off the stage amid shocked gasps from the younger years. His housemates moved aside for him, and he took the steps to his dorm-room, hearing Wynch concede the duel.


	11. The Selkies' Riddle

_**Author's Notes: **There are a lot of things going on in here. Things I'm sure some of you will not be fond of. Mostly I'm too opportunistic to pass on something that could be hilarious later on. __Could've chopped up the chapter, but decided against doing so. Next chapter may not be out for two weeks.__  
_

* * *

Harry came awake in the middle of the night. Reaching his arm through the hangings around his bed, he quickly retrieved the Glaxxes from his table and placed them on his face. He drew his wand from its holster next to the blue pouch under his pillow and pointed above his head. "_Tempus_," he whispered as he'd seen done several times.

Yellow light arced above him forming into numbers, 11:45::07, the two digits farthest right continued adding one to itself as each second passed. The appointed meeting with Sirius was in fifteen minutes. With a whispered _"Finite Incantatem,"_ the numbers disappeared, and Harry quietly pushed through the hangings.

Holding his breath, Harry snuck out of the dorm-room. Crabbe was breathing loudly, not quite snoring, and only Theodore shifted as if he sensed Harry's passing. Out in the stairwell, which was lit with subdued torches, Harry spun his wand over his head, applying a careful Disillusionment Charm. This would have been the best time to benefit from the Marauder's Map, but that was still with Lupin. He then whispered a Warming Charm to apply to his night robes to keep the chill at bay. He had his health to worry about after all.

As quiet as if he'd unlocked the slider on his old cupboard to steal food from the Dursleys' cooling box, Harry hurried down the stairs in his socked feet. He stepped out the stairwell sensing passive magic tingle over his skin as he passed through the archway, probably a ward of some sort. He sped across the common room to the enormous fireplace where the fire had burned down to glowing embers. He sat with his back facing them, eyeing the stairwell and then the short corridor to the office, but no one appeared. After several tense moments, Harry realized the ward might have been only to keep tabs on who sat in the common room in the dead of night and, possibly, to keep track of how long they stayed up. He whispered a Human Revealspell, but the only presence in the room was him. He turned to the embers and waited. Just as he was wondering whether he needed to stoke the fire up, a soft hissing noise erupted from the coals. He crouched by the fire, waiting patiently.

Sirius' face formed from the embers—the face was different, fuller and much less emaciated than Harry remembered. Harry felt his face break out into a grin, "How're you doing? I heard you were turning yourself in."

"I will very soon. How are you?" Sirius said with a most serious expression. He didn't argue about the necessity of the charm Harry was wearing.

"I'm fine," Harry said easily. It was not precisely the truth, yet he thought there was no need to worry the man who was taking such a large risk.

"Could you take off the charm? I want to see you." Sirius looked at him, orange-red eyes full of concern, eyes that had not yet lost the look that Azkaban had given them—a deadened haunted look. Harry couldn't refuse him and cancelled the spell. Sirius' expression relaxed, the crow's feet in the cinders crinkling into a small smile. "You look better than last year."

"Thanks. You too."

His godfather lost the smile as a stern expression settled over his features. "Now, let's get straight to the reason why I called this meeting before Snivelly interrupts. Did you or did you not put your name in the Goblet of Fire?"

"Promise you'll listen to what I have to say. And not the rubbish promise most adults break when they don't like what they hear." Harry could tell that Sirius didn't quite understand what he meant even as he made the promise. "I put my name in—"

Sirius sent out a great gasp of air sending sparks everywhere. "_You_—_?!_"

"Sirius, _you promised_," Harry hissed.

"That was before I learned—Right. I don't make rubbish promises, but you had to get past an Age Line. How did you—" His godfather didn't look pleased nor furious. There was shock and disappointment mingling with a bit of wonder. He took a breath. "Get on with what you wanted to tell me."

"Whatever you've heard or read from the news, I'm not the Hogwarts champion; my entry wasn't chosen. Cedric Diggory is the Hogwarts Champion. Someone else decided to Confund the Goblet of Fire to make me the sole contender of a nameless fourth school. Professor Dumbledore had to dual-enroll me with the Salem Institute of Witchcraft and Witchery to smooth everything out."

"He told me. Whose fireplace do you think I'm using?" Sirius' red-orange face grinned broadly and then his lips downturned grimly. "Harry, people _die _in this tournament."

"I know. I'm sorry," Harry said softly, inwardly cursing the soul-shard again.

"The Death Eaters at the World Cup, your name rising from that goblet—These are not just coincidences. Dumbledore promised that he'd keep you safe. A wizard like him doesn't promise things carelessly—it means that Hogwarts _isn't_ _safe_ anymore. Your enemies have infiltrated."

Harry nodded and then an idea flashed into Harry's mind. "Sirius, I know we haven't got much time, but could you put in a good word with Dumbledore on my behalf? He confiscated my dad's cloak, but it's helped me get out of trouble before. If I had that…"

His godfather gave him an unreadable look. "I'll ask after it, but I make no promises."

"And Hogwarts hasn't really been a safe haven ever since I arrived. Draco Malfoy's been after me to stay home and learn through private tutors."

A loud crackle of an exhale expanded from the hot logs. "Do not trust the word of a Malfoy, even if it's sound advice. That family is not your friend. For all we know they could be plotting to have you assassinated. His father's a—"

"A Death Eater, I know," Harry said. Sirius gave him a long look. The Slytherin added, "I'm not stupid. I'm more concerned with Professor Moody."

Sirius looked at him as fire licked from his eyes and mouth, looking rather frightening now that he was frowning at Harry. "Moody's a good man, and normally I would vouch for him, but lately… Dumbledore said you dropped his class, which means the headmaster must have noticed that something wasn't quite right. They aren't the closest of friends, Moody and Dumbledore, but the headmaster never discounts his instinct." Sirius' eyes fixed Harry with a stare. "You can trust Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Madam Pomfrey. They've already checked for Polyjuice Potion between themselves. It leaves quite a bit of staff but they should know within a month who isn't the culprit. And you ought to keep your wits sharp around Karkaroff, too. He renounced—"

"I know what he did, and it made him a traitor to Lord Vole—"

A snort of cinders erupted. "Good one, James."

"—something that wouldn't go unpunished," Harry finished more hesitantly, expecting his godfather to correct his mistake and feeling odd when he didn't. "And Karkaroff ratted out other Death Eaters. They would all be out for his blood. He wouldn't—"

"Harry, if he delivers you to Voldemort, then everything would be forgiven. The myth of a reformed Death Eater is a _lie_. No one, and I mean _no one_ stops being a Death Eater… That man's taught the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his, so you should watch out for that Durmstrang champion as well."

"Krum isn't evil," Harry said bluntly. "He's a wicked good seeker, I'll grant you that, but he's not—"

"_No, Harry_," Sirius growled. "Anybody who studies heavily in the Dark Arts, you can't trust them. It warps them."

_Then you can't trust me either_, Harry wanted to say, but refrained. A Fire-Call wasn't the best way to blurt something like that out. Anyone could be listening in.

Sirius must have seen something in his expression because he changed the topic. "Did you hear about that Ministry of Magic witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" Harry said, feigning curiosity. He didn't feel the slightest bit guilty that he hadn't told his godfather about the visions. He had a feeling that Sirius would not react well to the news.

"The same… she disappeared in Georgia, where Voldemort was rumored to be last… and she would have known that the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she? Considering the Department she worked for."

Obviously Harry's godfather wasn't privy to all information Dumbledore knew. The Ministry supposedly suspected that already and had wisely decided to keep that out of the public eye. "What about her?"

"I knew her," Sirius said grimly, "She was at Hogwarts when I was, a few years above your dad and me. And she was an idiot. Very nosy, but no brains, none at all. It's not a good combination, Harry. She might've been lured into a trap."

His godfather was clever if he'd been able to sniff out what had happened based off of circumstantial evidence. Harry's mind raced, wondering what he should say.

"You already knew? Harry, you should have written—"

"And wrote what, exactly? If you hadn't noticed, you're _on trial_. Why should I make you worry—"

"Because that's what godfathers bloody do when their godsons are orphaned and raised by hateful Muggles! Keeping secrets from me will make me worry _more_ rather than less." Sirius sighed when Harry was at a loss for words and closed his eyes for a bit. "I didn't mean to lecture. I wanted to help you with the First Task," Sirius said speaking quickly so that Harry could not interrupt, "There's a way to disable the dragons—did you know there were dragons? You're not surprised, good—and don't be tempted to try a Stunning spell—dragons are strong and too powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single Stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards to overcome a dragon—Use the Conjunctivitis Curse, it'll blind them and—"

"I have it well in hand, Sirius. I've known about them for a month and I've three main strategies to use and a back-up if none of them work." Harry smiled in a reassuring manner. "I'll be fine."

Besides, the hex to induce pinkeye wouldn't work well against a beast easily the size of a small house, especially not one who was excessively aggressive. Though blinded, the dragon would seek to rout Harry out with her nose and attack with fire or simply crush him.

"I've been receiving a flurry of letters from…" And here a sneer crossed his features before flattening, "Your Head of House. A backlog of incident reports and quarterly write-ups spanning from your first year to present-day... Did you really bloody the nose of Lucius Malfoy's heir and beat down two other students twice your size all by yourself without a single spell?"

Harry nodded, feeling a bit anxious. He'd expected his godfather to praise him for rescuing the dragon or protecting the Philosopher's Stone, not focus on what he shouldn't have done. His shoulders hunched with his discomfort. Harry wasn't proud of losing his temper.

"I'm proud of you."

That sudden statement was jarring in its depth of warmth and breadth of immodesty. Harry felt the back of his neck heat with embarrassment. "There's nothing noble about resorting to violence."

"At times, it's necessary. I would have beaten the little prick too if he had insulted Lily." Sirius waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "And you rescued a Ginevra Weasley from the clutches of spirit-possession? Battling a basilisk for the fair lady's life?"

He felt his face warm. His lips would not come unstuck to correct him. He'd never felt so mortified, and a part of him was both smarting that it had been Snape who'd done the Slytherin's monster in and miffed that his godfather would likely never believe the truth. But whatever he was going to say died on his lips.

Sirius' eyes had grown hard. "And studying the Dark Arts… Harry, I don't know why you thought you needed it, but it won't help you win against Voldemort." An arrested look crossed Harry's features, but Sirius never looked away. "Yes, I know about the duel last year with Snivelly. It was quite an extensive write-up. I could tell he was jealous that you achieved so much at your age with little formal training, and by nearly besting him your skill is already better than most Death Eaters. But Harry, using the Dark Arts, torturing and killing with magic… it's harmful to the mind and soul—"

"You aren't telling me anything new." There was a grinding noise behind him, so Harry hissed, "Someone's coming!"

"Stay sharp and keep in touch," Sirius said and then his face disappeared in a cloud of ashes. Harry frowned. Well, it wouldn't do to tell his godfather about the soul-shard. He'd probably demand that Dumbledore have it excised from Harry's MVS, preferring a dead godson over one tainted by a piece of Voldemort's corrupted soul. No, it was best not to tell him about it. Harry rather liked living so long as he was in control. Hearing soft shuffling from behind him, the Slytherin remained where he was sitting as he stared into the flames.

"A bit late to be up…" Mervyn Wynch's voice said over him. "Harry." Silently, Harry turned. Wynch was dressed in flowing green night-robes. "Someone was warning you to stay sharp… I have a good guess as to who that would be."

It wasn't hard to imagine how Snape would react to the fact that Sirius' face had appeared within the walls of the common room should he be notified of it. Raising a massive stink about it didn't even begin to cover the colossal mess Harry would be in, champion or no.

"I'll have sentries posted in case you are so desirous of another such meeting with a fugitive again. Even if he wasn't, there are procedures in place to make a Fire-Call to those in charge of you," the Head Boy said with a languid drawl. Looking Harry over, he sat down on the nearest couch. "Let's have a chat. Shall we?"

In an obliging mood, Harry sank into the nearest chair. "About what?"

"About anything. You could talk about your godfather, your struggle with Transfigurations, your studies with Principal Oke… really whatever comes to mind."

"I miss playing chess with Gilbert," Harry said and meant it. The prefect had become a mentor to him; last year's Head Boy had been too busy preparing for the all-important N.E.W.T.s for Harry to feel right bothering him.

"Well, Ivan's a decent player, if you ever want a go. Not as good as Gill, but decent enough."

Thoughts tumbled through Harry's mind unbidden. The ever-present nightmares of countless deaths by his hands influenced no doubt by his fears of the soul-shard, Moody's smirk when his name was chosen, the lack of 'visions' since Hestia Jones had passed away… And the niggling feeling of someone touching his mind. "Stop reading my mind," Harry growled. "It's bad enough that Snape does it on a regular basis."

Surprise flickered across Wynch's face. "That wasn't even proper Legilimency. Supposed to be undetectable."

Harry simply scowled. He'd have to keep that information to himself in the future.

"My apologies. You were lost in thought for so long, I didn't know if you were having a small seizure." The Head Boy crossed his right arm across his chest to lightly touch his opposite shoulder, bowing his head. "But Legilimency is not what Muggles call telepathy or mind-reading, your Grace." He looked up as if reciting from memory, "The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. One's thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls to be perused by an invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered apparatus."

Before Harry could absorb all that completely, he stared at Wynch realizing why he was usually so at ease with the other boy. "You're a Muggle-born, aren't you?" It was strange that the Head Boy had escaped Draco's notice. Harry hadn't missed that there were housemates that Draco completely ignored as if they didn't even exist.

A lazy smile crossed the older teen's features. "Very good, Harry. What gave it away?"

"I doubt magical folk would have even heard of the term telepathy."

Wynch chuckled warmly. "Ah, yes… Well, my chef d'oeuvre will be an extensive collection of writings that will correct the various inaccuracies wizards and witches have about Muggles. I've already had several little-known books published; They've caused quite a controversy. All the leading Muggle experts think I'm a sham, a fake." A look of relish entered his features. "Oh, how little they know…"

"What sort of books?"

"Ones dealing with a multitude of 'Muggle Curiosities'. I'm most focused on Muggle technology." Catching Harry's interested look, pure avarice filled Wynch's expression before he was able to shutter it. "I'll provide all the copies you want, for _free_. So long as you read them and give me feedback."

"You want a glowing celebrity endorsement?"

"Yes."

"I don't need free ones to provide that. And if it's any good, I'll need to buy lots of copies of whatever beginner's version you have."

Wynch had raised his hand as if appearing to argue Harry down from his point, but instead his jaw flapped open. "You're_ serious_?"

"That's not enough? Alright, I'll sponsor you… once I have access to my vault. That's essentially what you want, right?"

Making a noise in his throat, Wynch's mouth opened and then closed and then opened again. "I can't let you do that."

With a wry grin, Harry cocked his head to the side. "I hate explaining what 'eleck-trickity' is or what the plugs on the end of 'dee-vices' are, and I thought I might write something but I already have fame in abundance and I'm about _sick to death _of writing. It isn't something I enjoy."

"I suppose when you put it that way it's not that bad of a deal for you..." Wynch said trailing off. "I'll accept the rest, but I won't let you sponsor me."

"Why not?" After rubbing elbows at the very boring yet extravagant parties in Malfoy Manor, Harry had learned that sponsorship was one way a witch or wizard could make a living. There had been plenty of people trying to schmooze Draco's father, even some desperate enough to try to butter Draco up for the chance at the Galleons of money sitting in his parents' vault. "You're not already obscenely wealthy or have a rich relative who's promised to leave a sizable inheritance to you, do you?"

"Ah, no…" Wynch's face colored some. "Quite the opposite. I was disowned during my fourth year."

"Because you were a wizard?"

The Head Boy cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. "My bedroom proclivities."

"_Oh_," Harry said. Mervyn Wynch had confessed earlier that he was certifiably queer, a poof, a woofter, a nancy-boy, a bender; words that were offensive and demeaning. Every single one of them had been thrown at the much smaller Harry by school bullies in his past. Their favorite had been Harry the Fairy, which the uncreative Finnigan had likely gleaned from the Skeeter book. "Then why can't I sponsor you?"

Wynch smiled, though it was bittersweet. "Harry, _publicly _sponsoring me would only tear your reputation down."

"I could do it privately?" Harry said instead of arguing that he didn't really care about his reputation. He'd learned that it was harder to convince someone to join his way of thinking than to make a compromise he was willing to agree to.

Letting out a bit of surprised and relieved laughter, Wynch stood up and looked towards the dying embers in the grate. "Let me see if I understand this. You wish to pay for my living expenses and provide a livable wage for the rest of my life in exchange for writing books? You don't want anything else?"

"I wouldn't mind having advice now and then."

Wynch had a small smile play over his face. "Very well. I accept your sponsorship. And because I was impressed by your restraint during the duel, I'll even have a go at a chancy bit of magic to speed the process up. If you'd have me."

Harry had a strange sense of vertigo when the Head Boy had taken Harry's wand-hand into his and knelt. Wynch wasn't about to propose to him or something equally stupid, was he? "What're you doing?"

"I would like to swear a blood fealty to you." Amber brown met green steadily.

Harry's breath hitched at the thought of _power_ that would bring. If they went through such a thing, Wynch wouldn't be able to refuse anything from him; Harry would have dominion over his life. _Merlin._ "That isn't something you can take back."

"I'm fully aware of that. Do you know how it works?"

"Well enough, but Wynch, you can't just decide on a whim to bind yourself to someone. I hardly know you, and besides it's illegal for minors to engage in it, isn't it? And if you're caught—"

"As long as you're willing, it'll do." The smile hadn't left his face. "_Upon my blood, I swear_—"

Yanking his hand from Wynch's, Harry knew it was too late, even as he crawled across the couch away from the kneeling older teen. "You're mad," he hissed. Despite the lack of contact, the magic hadn't left Harry; he felt it tingling along his arm. The Head Boy knew what he was doing. Perhaps this had been the catch all along… to tie his future to the infamous Harry Potter. Yet it wasn't without considerable danger for the one becoming bloodsworn to another.

"—_to uphold the honor of the House of Potter_—"

The tingling grew stronger, crawling through his shoulder. Harry's hand clenched over it uselessly as if it might hold the tide back, and then the magic dove inside of Harry's chest, bursting through him. He yelped at the shock-like pain. The older boy still had his hand upraised in supplication, and his eyes trained on Harry. His amber eyes were glowing and he was looking distant as if in a trance.

"—_to defend their secrets, and to secure their bloodline_—"

Harry caught himself reaching forward to throttle Wynch. The desire to choke others seemed to rise when the limit of Harry's tolerance for stupidity was reached. If Harry refused the blood fealty at this stage, the magical backlash could be lethal with so much channeling through them. The sound of stone grinding alerted Harry, and he looked up to see that the wall between two conspicuous pillars was opening. He dropped his eyes to Wynch's distant ones again. Harry would kill Voldemort once and for all, but he was fairly sure he'd die in the process, and dying without an heir… The backlash would damage Wynch, and he would end up a Squib forever. _Wouldn't be my fault, would it?_ _He's the one who was so eager to bind himself to my bloodline,_ Harry thought.

"—_to the end of my days, until the life of this illegitimate child of the House of Wynch extinguishes_."

Then, Harry felt intense pressure near his heart. He pressed his hands against his chest. The heavy magic had not left yet. Harry gasped out thinking he might suffocate. He stood up wishing he had easy access to fresh air. His legs carried him a few steps before they weakly folded underneath him, causing him to flop onto the couch Wynch had occupied earlier.

"My Lord," Mervyn Wynch said with his hand motionlessly upturned to Harry, "Do you accept?"

Harry opened his mouth, wheezing.

"Potter, don't say another word_._" Snape's voice was clear and awake and _quite_ angry.

Swiveling his head towards the Potions Master, Harry was unnerved to feel Wynch's blank stare. He opened his mouth to explain, but at the furious expression directed at him Harry shut his mouth so hard his teeth clicked.

"You have three options. Refuse to speak until death claims him while you feel every agonizing moment, outright reject him and allow him to immediately die at your feet, or accept his magical vow and allow him to live."

The older teen had asked circumspectly for permission. Harry still had the choice to say no, and Snape would witness the cold, hard edge of that decision without blinking or flinching. Wynch would die, with no family to grieve or bury him, and the headmaster would cover for Harry. Post mortem Wynch would be found guilty of attempting to force a minor into a blood fealty and the matter would be closed. But Harry would never forgive himself for the needless death of a housemate. The pain of refusal would torment for years to come. However, if he accepted, he would have an ally who he could trust implicitly.

With a sigh of defeat, Harry reached out and clasped Wynch's hand, which closed around his. Unfortunately, Harry didn't know the words finishing words of a blood oath; he had never expected to perform one! He looked up at Professor Snape, who had moved to his side. Harry was surprised by what he saw in the adult's black eyes: Pity _and_ approval. Within moments, the short black wand was drawn and pointed towards their clasped hands.

"Repeat after me, Potter. I hereby swear upon the name and blood of the House of Potter," Snape said as if it were not a matter of life and death for Wynch.

"_I hereby swear, upon the name and blood of the House of Potter_," Harry repeated and felt the heavy pressure of magic burst through whatever had stopped it. It burrowed deeply into his chest, wandering, expanding, _seeking_. Harry let out a strangled gasp and he would have fallen over if the Potions Master hadn't caught him. Harry's impulse was to wrench away, yet the intensity of cloying magic made that impossible. He had lost feeling below his abdomen.

"To sponsor, assist, and protect this illegitimate child of Wynch," Snape said slowly.

Harry spoke the words, as the other wizard's magic coursed through him, hot and soothing at once. Harry felt a bit feverish, and his scar was aching fiercely, throbbing in counterpoint to Harry's heart. A buzzing had filled his head to the point where he almost couldn't hear Snape's last words. The adult's hand was like vice about Harry's bicep, keeping him upright on the couch so he could finish the powerful binding.

"_To the end of the Potter bloodline. So shall it be_," Harry whispered the words and then all that magic roaring through him rushed down his arm into Wynch's hand.

The Head Boy exhaled, "_So shall it be until my breath ends_."

Gently, Harry was lowered to the couch as something locked inside of him. Feeling tender in odd places, he laid there staring up at the barrel-vaulted ceiling of the common room as the black shadow moved away from him. His eyes watered, until he remembered he needed to blink.

Wynch moved forward upon his knees, peering down at Harry on the couch. With his right hand the Head Boy crossed his arm against his chest to touch his left shoulder and bowed. "I am yours to command, my Lord."

"I don't make commands… Unless I've gone mad like you, and then I certainly don't expect them to be followed," Harry said. His voice seemed faraway and hoarse. The scar was like an open sore on his forehead, burning and itching painfully. Harry was surprised that there wasn't blood dripping down his face.

"You're no fun at all," Wynch said informally, dropping his hands to his legs. "I was looking forward to being ordered about."

"I'd throttle you, but I don't know where my hands are."

Amber blinked down at him and then a chuckle washed over Harry. The wizard began to speak again, but Harry was already drifting away. The pain was lessening the farther he drifted, until he was no longer cognizant of anything around him.

* * *

It was late Sunday morning when Harry woke up. He tried to raise himself up and groaned when he couldn't do it. His head was pounding and the light streaming in through the windows was unbearable. Whose brilliant idea had it been to draw the curtains back?

A shadow leaned over him, hands pressed into the covers. "Harry, I've got to practice Charms homework," Theodore said. "May I have my wand back yet?"

"It's…" Harry's brain was scrambled. For a moment he couldn't remember why he would have it. "Wait." Harry shoved an unsteady hand under his pillow and weakly pulled out Theodore's wand from the pouch. "Take it."

His friend slipped the stick of wood from Harry's weak, spasming fingers and then cooed at it. "Oh, I've missed you, you precious, precious wand."

"Theo, shut up," Harry groaned, curling up on his side so he could press his face into the coolness of his pillow.

"Can't. Professor Snape said—nay, ordered me to take you to the Great Hall for lunch. You skipped a meal already. That on top of exhausting yourself yesterday."

Harry's thoughts were sluggish, and the tenderness he'd had earlier had amplified in head-splitting pain. Even now, muscles spasmed or twitched, sending lancing pain up his legs and arms as if he'd run a marathon without practicing or stretching first. He tried to remember what he'd done to deserve it.

There was a sound of a cork popping out of a vial. "Harry, roll over. I've got a remedy for you."

Ever so slowly, Harry rolled onto his back. Theodore pushed the covers completely off of him. As soon as the cloudy potion hit Harry's tongue, the intense pain and aches rolled away and Harry relaxed into his bed. His head and body felt light, too light judging by the way Harry nearly threw himself out of the bed, when he tried to sit up. If not for Theodore's warm arm which caught him around the middle. It felt amazing. "Easy now. It hasn't completely taken effect yet." Theodore's words seemed sped up, making him sound as if he was dosed on helium.

Harry laughed, swaying. "Whaaat waaas thaaaat—tuh. Tuh." Harry clamped down on his lips. He sorely wanted to play with sounds, though logically he knew that it would make him sound silly.

Theodore sniffed the empty vial and then let out a surprised giggle. "Oh, um. Did not expect that. This is what I used to take on bad days: Death's Door Respite. It's… Well. It helps your overstressed MVS. Up, up." Theodore set the empty vial down and maneuvered his arms so that he could help Harry stand.

Harry could feel the blood rushing down from his head and through the rest of him to his toes. It was incredible. Harry had never felt better. He grinned. When Theodore grinned back, the sensation of reciprocity filled Harry with blissful joy. That was when a worm of panic snuck in. Harry shut his eyes to impede some of the terrific feelings so he wouldn't be completely nonsensical. "I'mmm nooot uuunderrr thhhhe Imperrrriouuussss Cuuuuurrrrrrse?"

"No, Harry. You've taken a potion and it's messing with your perceptions. Now, lean on me. Walking helps."

Harry only meant to lean a little, but he flopped against Theodore. "S'rryyyy," he slurred.

"I really should've given you a half-dose. I hadn't expected Professor Snape to give you DD. It's not like you're dangerously ill." Theodore helped him walk. The world spun a bit and then it began to sway like an endless ocean, and Harry was bobbing in it. Glee swam through Harry. He couldn't ever remember a time where he felt this good. "Draco, can you spell some Refreshening Charms?"

A murmuring later, and Harry smelled fresher. "Freshhhhh laundryyyy," he mumbled inaudibly against Theodore's shoulder. He took a deep breath and then another.

"Stop that before you start hyperventilating," a sharp voice cut through like acid.

"Goooooood smeeeeells," Harry warbled uncertainly.

A hand pressed his face against the warm shoulder. "It's alright, Harry. In a few more moments, you won't be muddled anymore. It's going to feel odd, like someone had wrapped gauze around you. You won't be able to channel magic, but you'll be fine, eh? That's why we're here in case it's too much for you. Sally-Anne's waiting for us in the common room. She'll protect us from anyone who tries anything."

The other voice scoffed loudly, but Theodore ignored him, so Harry did too.

It was gradual the way the world stopped tilting and rocking, but too soon the good feelings left and Harry was feeling ruddy awful. Without warning, he shoved Theodore away. "What the bloody hell—" Something wasn't right. Worse than that, it was the very opposite of right. The ecstasy he'd been feeling fled from him as if someone had dropped him from an obscenely tall height and he had nothing to stop his blood and guts from splattering everywhere. Harry lunged for his pillow to draw his wand. He attempted a simple Cheering Charm, but _nothing happened_. His sense of magic was rapidly disappearing; maybe if he brought it out, maybe it would come back. But he couldn't bring it out. Draco snagged the holly wand from him. Harry was sickly on the inside, an abject failure, an aberration, a freak among freaks. _Why didn't Voldemort kill me good and proper? At least I'd be with my parents and not here while the world is falling apart. _As several people breathed in sharply, and Harry continued to pace, muttering under his breath. He felt trodding awful.

"Harry, that's the potion, remember? Not any _freakish _failure on your part. You can't use your magic until it wears off which won't be for another twenty hours." Theodore's voice was gentling. It wasn't until Theodore placed firm hands on his shoulders that Harry stopped relentlessly pacing.

Foot tapping in agitation, Harry took in a shuddering breath. "Potion?" He rubbed his face. A flush of pleasant memory surged through him. His teeth and tongue ached for the taste of that salty potion that brought an abundance of pleasure. Everything felt so drab in comparison. He took in a sharp breath, forcing the tantalizing memory away. Plastering on a smile, a smile that was nearly never real, Harry said, "My wand, Draco."

As soon as the wand touched his hand, Harry was saddened that it felt like an absolutely ordinary stick of wood. He took his holster and placed the wand gently into it. Feeling the loss of his magic like a thorn in his side, Harry took his time dressing himself the old-fashioned way. Attaching both his holster and pouch onto his person, Harry grabbed ahold of a part of his Spellfast Cloak. There was an absence of a subtle sensation he'd never noticed until it was gone. The smile on his face grew ever more brittle. "Let's go eat." He left the room. Seventy-eight steps down. Into the common room, ninety-nine steps before they exited.

"Oh good, you're awake!" A witch with short brown hair and glasses bounced happily. He nodded and smiled at Sally-Anne as he passed. "Harry?"

Through the portrait-hole. Two hundred one steps, and then up the stairs, one hundred fifty-four steps. Forty-five steps across the Entrance Hall. _Merlin, this had to be worse than being a Squib_. He couldn't sense _anything_, no prickling of wards, no sense of where others were in relation to him… He'd had no idea how much he relied on that to stop from bumping into his classmates. Others jostled into him, stuttering when they realized who he was. In a bizarre way, it was a bit amazing. He'd always been the center of attention before, and now he seemed a bit… well… _invisible_. Momentarily his mind wandered, wondering idly if Sally-Anne had learned to suppress her magic in a way that made her seem invisible. Harry wondered whether Muggles would feel invisible to him, too…

His friends on either side of him, Harry stopped at the open double doors where the smells of Sunday breakfast wafted over them. The Gryffindors' newest taunting was loud—quoting a strange amalgamation of tidbits from Skeeter's article and biography. He noticed that their badges had changed from _HARRY THE FAIRY _to _POTTY STINKS._ It wasn't like Harry hadn't endured that uninventive insult all of his life.

"Want a hanky, wee Potty?" Finnigan yelled from half a hall away. A quarter of the Gryffindors roared with approval, but Harry noticed that many of the others, largely the older years, didn't.

"He doesn't ever learn," Sally-Anne said with exasperation beside Harry.

Theodore gave Harry a hopeful smile. "Can't I hex him, just a bit? It'd be worth the detention."

"No." Harry didn't budge, as he memorized Finnigan's face. Something Dark stirred in him, whispering indistinctly, yet it couldn't reach him. He shivered a bit when he realized how much influence it had and then relief filtered into him. There was a way to block the soul-shard's access to his mind! But Harry suspected the potion was not one he could regularly take. In addition, he _needed _the ability to perform magic for both his protection and learning. However, as a last resort, the potion would provide a much-needed final opportunity.

Waving a dainty handkerchief, the Gryffindor swaggered. "For when you start cryin' for mummy and daddy!" He balled it up and tossed it towards Harry, who had already been jostled behind Draco and Sally-Anne, but someone cried, "_Reducto!"_ and it disintegrated into particles that immediately dropped to the floor.

"Leave him alone," Ginny's voice threatened.

"Or you'll do what, girlie?" Finnigan turned a nasty look on the shorter redhead.

"Hey! Your face is finally fixed, Seamus!" One of the Weasley twins said with a gasp as the two sixth years sidled up next to him on either side. "I didn't even notice! Did you, George?"

"No, no I didn't at all." George leaned into Finnigan's space, causing the fourth year to lean back. "What're you talking to our sister for? Need some tips on moisturizing salves for your face? Oh, what's that?" The sixth year pointed at a spot under his nose, tsking. "Looks like the jinx might be coming back."

Finnigan looked down, and George flicked his nose hard. He and his brother laughed as the younger Gryffindor yelped and clapped his hand over his reddened nose. When he felt no protrusions, the rest of his face went crimson as he turned back to the twins. "There's nothin' wrong with me face, you bloody gingers!"

"Ooo, he called my hair orange. I think my feelings might be hurt, Fred…"

"Oh, _cruel world_…!" Fred said with a forlorn tone, throwing himself into his brother's arms. "I _never wanted_ orange hair. Alas, it was our fates determined by our parents' fiery manes!"

George stroked his twin's hair. "Why'd you have to go and bring our tragic backstory up, Shamey? You should've remembered why that isn't very smart…"

The Gryffindor's face had quite suddenly paled as his eyes grew wide with fear. "…Didn't mean to offend either o' you."

"Really? Then why're you wearing a badge that says _POTTY STINKS_? Are you complaining about the house-elves' hard and unjust toils on our toilets? I think Hermione might have a word or two to say about that."

Finnigan's complexion had gone waxy, and his voice grew tremulous. He might have backed up if his knees weren't already pressed to the benchseat. "No."

"Then why're you _wearing_ it? Surely you can't be referring to… Parselmouth Potter?" George said slowly and Fred's eyes were gleaming beneath George's hand that was still cupped around his head.

The bully made an incoherent noise. Harry was quite fascinated at the Weasley twins' tactics.

"I'm much better now, George…" Fred said darkly, reaching forward and plucking the badge from Finnigan's robes. "Gin-gin, your turn."

Fred flicked it into the air. Ginny hit it with another well-placed, "_Reducto!_" As one, her older brothers turned to Finnigan, stepping even closer until their noses nearly touched either of his cheeks. Finnigan's trembling knees didn't resist when he was pushed to sit. "Certainly a half-wit would realize that we Pleasant Pals don't appreciate the bullying of Parselmouth Potter…" They said together, "Especially when our mother wouldn't approve of it."

Fred grinned ferally. "You recall what Charlie said, George? How she was in floods after the article about him?"

George tilted his head back his eyes watering. With a high and anxious voice that sounded like Ron's Howler from two years ago, he howled right into Finnigan's face, "_'He still cries about his parents! Oh, bless him, I never knew!_'"

Wincing at the flecks of spittle spewing from George's mouth, Finnigan was getting smaller and smaller where he sat. "It was only a bit o' fun, Potter knew that. Din't'cha, Potter?" The Gryffindor looked imploringly at Harry. Harry raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Theodore lightly patted Harry's shoulder. "Poor, mate. He cried himself to sleep again, knowing he'd be bullied today."

Harry shot him a dark look; he'd done no such thing!

"Oh, really? We are so terribly, terribly _distraught_ to hear it," Fred said sounding rather miserable. Quite suddenly, he latched onto Finnigan's arms, pinning them tightly to his back, and slammed him face-first into the long table. Poor Finnigan let out a yelp when his lip split against his teeth. Not a single Lion leapt in to help their hapless housemate.

"I won't do it again!" Finnigan's eyes roved frantically over Harry's blank face for some shred of sympathy. It was too bad Harry didn't feel any. "Tell them it was only a wee bit o' fun!" When Harry simply looked at him, Fred yanked on Finnigan's arm eliciting a painful whimper from the fourth-year. "It was a feckin' joke, no harm in that!" Blood was dripping down his chin now, and Harry let himself relish the sight of the panicked Gryffindor.

"Now, Shamey, we've been patient with you and your thickheaded ways. But see those badges, we don't approve of them—"

"TURN THEM IN!" Finnigan screamed at the other Gryffindors, his voice breaking in a pathetic manner. A crowd of students from other houses were gathering around to view the spectacle. Fred dug an elbow into fourth year's back. "Now, you've gone and interrupted us."

"And we don't like repeating ourselves, Shamey," George cooed into his ear as he began to unwrap a confection from paper. "You owe someone an apology."

"I'M SORRY, POTTY—NO, NOO!" Red-faced Finnigan screamed incoherently as George forced the sweet into his mouth and forced his jaw shut.

"_WHAT THE BLAZES IS GOING ON HERE?!_" Professor McGonagall's voice rang off the walls, causing all conversation within the Great Hall to cease.

Just as she pushed past the crowd of students, Fred and George backed off looking totally innocent as badges were clanking on the table. Finnigan was cradling his arm like a nursing child, while his face was runny with tears of relief. His tongue—at least what Harry thought was his tongue—was at least a foot long, purple, and bulbous, hanging from between his lips like an overlarge snake. Drool slimily dripped from Finnigan's chin as he breathed heavily in and out of his nose, tongue lolling now and then.

"Return to your tables!" Professor McGonagall ordered.

Theodore grabbed Harry by the arm and dragged him to their table amid the wash of students. Harry plopped onto the bench, and his two friends sat on the other side of him.

"Did those Weasleys just…" Harry trailed off, still stunned by what he'd just witnessed.

"Bully a bully? Oh, yes. Serves him right," Sally-Anne said brightly.

Harry poked at the eggs, which had just appeared on the plate in front of him. "Do you have any idea what they gave him?"

"They call it Ton-Tongue Toffee," she answered, "They tend to save it for rather rude or sharp-tongued individuals."

"I've never heard of that type of sweet," Harry said. "Is Zonko's making a confection line?" At the amused looks upon their countenances, he tried again, "Honeyduke's is branching off with their Special Effects sweets?"

Sally-Anne and Theodore exchanged a glance past Harry. Then Sally-Anne began to dig something out of her schoolbag.

"I'm right then? Those Weasleys have been bringing experimental sweets into Hogwarts to sell them to the students and report back to the Honeydukes…?"

"Oh, not at all. That arm of their smuggling business is providing them with investment money for their grand plan which is entirely their idea," Sally-Anne said, handing a piece of paper over to Harry. "_This_."

Harry looked down at the list of curiously named items—every single one of them piqued his interest. Next to each item was an affixed price. Flipping it over, he realized it was a hand-made ordering form, but it had no name of business on it. "Which is what exactly?"

"Remember how Dennis spoke about smuggling things for the twins?" Theodore asked lightly. "He didn't mean smuggling things into Hogwarts; he meant smuggling experimental sweets into our House."

"He runs orders to the Weasley twins and delivers them," Sally-Anne said. "They want to make a business selling joke stuff, mainly trick sweets, tentatively named Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," she said, "I think it's brilliant and is going to make Zally Zarinka Zonko stark-raving mad with envy for not having thought of it first."

Handing the ordering form back to Sally-Anne, Harry took a bite of his food.

"Well, what do you _think_?" Sally-Anne asked, putting the order form away.

"Give me three weeks and then I'll be able to tell you," Harry responded grimly, tucking in as much food as he could.

Theodore nodded. "You're worried about the First Task in nineteen days, aren't you?"

"Yes." Suddenly, Harry heard a distant tinkle of silver bells. He looked down the table, towards the double doors with a frown. "…I suspect the decision of which strategy to use is being left to me."

"And you'd be right," Draco said behind him. "You're the champion, you know. I can't very well whisper tactics in your ear while you fight."

Chomping on his toast, Harry raised an eyebrow at him.

Draco snorted. "There _are_ powerful enchantments that will prevent the spectators from doing that very thing. Besides, I have full confidence in your survival instinct. You'll know which strategy's the best once you've been given the full Task and seen the environment you're to cross."

More urgently the silver bells tinkled again as if carried upon the wind. Harry had just finished a plate of eggs and toast, so he stood up.

"You're done?" Theodore also rose from his seat, while Sally-Anne shot them a curious look.

"Sit down, Theo. I'm just going to the courtyard for a bit of fresh air. I'll be back."

"You can't wander around in your condition. It's not safe," Sally-Anne said.

"I only need some fresh air." And he was curious about the bells.

Draco stood, following after him. "Crabbe, Goyle."

The two hulking teens set their utensils down to flank them. With an annoyed look towards the trio, Harry walked out of the Great Hall. Going partway down the corridor leading to the library, they took a turn and stepped past a swinging pendulum to the great clock face sitting far above them. There was again a subtle feeling missing, a distinct hum in this large space. Harry wondered whether _this_ was the heart of Hogwarts, the steady swinging of the pendulum. He usually didn't want to hang about, but now he was curious at the mechanisms as he looked up into the darkness where the long stem of the pendulum came from a long, narrow slit in the ceiling.

"It's curious, but every Secret Sensor I've ordered has either disappeared or been broken," Draco said respectfully as Harry watched the pendulum fly past. "There's a Polyjuiced individual, who has an ample quantity of high-quality Foe Glass that can penetrate even the best cast privacy spells…"

The courtyard was rather crowded as Harry looked around. Again there came another shake of sweet silver bells. He wondered what on earth that was when he was distracted by Luna Lovegood. She was perched on a low wall set apart from the other students while she read a new edition of _The Quibbler_. Her wand, as usual, was tucked behind her ear. "Stay here, Malfoy. I need to talk to Lovegood."

"_Loony Luna_?" Draco placed a hand on his hip imperially. "What could she possibly say that is more important than what I've gathered about the Dark Lord's mole?"

"That's none of your business; though I will say this much, the best offense is a good defense." Harry went, and they didn't follow him far, though they lingered and continually glanced in his direction. "Er, hello. Thanks for the newspaper yesterday."

"You're very welcome, Harry," Luna said airily. "Truffle?" She offered Harry the box so he could take one of the varieties of chocolates. "You're quite invisible today, did you know?"

"Thanks, and yes, I did. I had to take a potion," Harry said, taking one, and then hopped onto the stone wall next to her. He popped it into his mouth and chewed. "I need to ask a favor of you, if that's alright…?"

"Of course," She breathed out happily. "Finally tired of the Nargles and Wrackspurts?"

"Er… what? I have them?"

"Oh yes, they're particularly bad. They like nesting with people that have a lot of clutter. Easier for them to make a mess…"

"I… well, I need someone to help me with Occlumency fundamentals, and I was pointed to you. I think meditating's involved—"

"Is that what you really want?" Harry nodded when she paused. "It will help then and a lot of other things too," the Ravenclaw said. "What did you want to know?"

"I can't do it, clear my mind. I mean, I've tried sitting in a quiet place and tried not to think on anything. I know I have to passively observe my thoughts, but I'm not sure what that means."

"It's easy actually. The most difficult part is believing it will work because you don't _seem_ like you're doing anything." Lovegood turned to face him, excitement flooding into her dreamy grin. "You see, most people think they know who they are, when they don't really. They think who they are is their memories, and mostly they think they are their thoughts. Thoughts are just like Nargles. They swim in through your ears and make everything fuzzy. Thoughts change, and so do emotions. Even memories can change. _You_ cannot. You are immutable." She turned back to her truffles and, smiling, stuck one powdered with cocoa into her mouth and clearly savored it. "Another?"

Harry blinked and waved her offer away. He supposed her explanation made a roundabout sort of sense… "Well, who are you if you aren't your memories?"

She giggled through the mouthful. He waited patiently for her to answer. "You are _you_. The you that is looking at me is you. The confusion that you feel, isn't you. It's just what you believe you're supposed to feel. And it can change. You could be angry at me, or sad, or peaceful."

"Don't think I've ever been the last one before," Harry said. "Is it really that easy?"

"Mhmm!" Luna nodded. "So few realize it. I mean, why be angry or upset or anxious when you don't _have_ to be? Why listen to the random babbling that passes between your ears and believe it for truth when it so often isn't? I could think that Professor Flitwick is a candle, but that's not true. Why should I put stock on any other thought?"

For a moment, Harry had to gather his bearings. "Because people have trouble understanding you when they can't follow them, your thoughts, I mean."

"But no one understands you anyway!" Luna exclaimed throwing her chocolate-marked fingertips up. "Not truly. No one can. It's impossible. Just as it's impossible to say that you are anything other than _you_. Get rid of everything else that you think is you. Once you are only _you_ and nothing else." She interrupted herself with giggles. "You'll want more socks."

Harry looked at her feeling very odd. He didn't like the feeling of a rug pulled out from under his feet. "How can you say it's impossible to be understood? Seems defeatist if you ask me."

"Hm… Well, if you meet the best one, the one who _sees _you… your magical cores resonate, and then you know the person because you are them, but different from the you as yourself. I've read all about it. It's very rare to meet someone like that. I'd like to someday. Much better than being misunderstood, don't you think?"

The odd feeling morphed as she babbled, and Harry knew its hold well: Loneliness. The thought bothered him that even long friendship could not guarantee understanding and acceptance. "Is this anything like sensing with your heart? Because I'm bollocks at that too." He wondered if he was just wasting his time, if this conversation was all pointless.

Tilting over her right hand, Luna shook her head and licked the faint traces of chocolate from her fingers. Plucking the wand from her ear, she cast a Cleaning Charm on her left hand and then picked up her books. "Are you finished with the truffles? Good." She stood up and slid the wand behind her ear again, leaving the box where it was, and started to hum as she skipped away. When Harry had caught up with her, she continued. "Sensing with your heart isn't something that you _do_, it happens naturally. Most people can't explain it because there's no way to describe it. Even harder to identify what you can't describe. Ever tried to explain to someone who can't see what the color blue looks like?"

"Ah," Harry said, thinking he better derail her before she tried to tell him how that endeavor went. "How did you know that I liked socks?"

"Oh. You do?" She smiled. "That's good." As they walked, her eyes roamed the ceiling, as if completely fascinated by the stonework.

"But you said…" Harry sighed as the silver bells jangled again, reminding him he had other things to investigate. "Look. How am I supposed to do that? Separate myself from my memories?"

Lovegood twirled once, arms open and inviting. "Don't overthink it. You aren't your memories. Just watch them as they go through your mind. See what happens, what thoughts happen. What feelings happen. The you that observes these things is _you_. Not what transpires through your mind at any moment."

"Alright…" Mrs. Longbottom had never explained it quite like that. She hadn't the patience to. "Thanks, Luna—er, I _can_ call you that…?"

"Of course!" She smiled breezily. "Oh, and Harry, keep asking questions." She twirled again, her dress flaring out once, and drifted away like a leaf on the wind. Harry was left standing outside the double doors to the Great Hall. He smiled. Talking with her was odd, and at times a little frustrating but he thought he understood a little of what she was saying. And he did that without feeling annoyed; he figured that that counted as _something_.

Once again the lovely bells called distantly, as if they were coming from the dungeons. "What _is_ that?" Harry murmured.

"Hm?" Draco said as he stepped next to him.

"The tinkling bells," Harry said without thinking.

If Harry hadn't taken a step back, Draco would have walked right into him. "When did _you_ swear a blood fealty?"

_Oh_, Harry thought dumbly as he stepped into the Great Hall, _Of course hearing things would mean something significant_. One of these days Harry would learn to keep his mouth shut pertaining to strange sounds. "I didn't," he lied.

"You've been laid up because of it, haven't you? Who is it?" Jealousy was heavy in the demanding torrent of questions. It aggravated Harry to no end. "I've always wanted a bloodsworn servant, but I can't since I'm not yet Head of my bloodline."

"It's no one important," Harry said. His mind raced as he tried to figure out how he could wiggle out of this one. He made his way quickly down the Slytherin long table. The place between Theodore and Sally-Anne had closed and they seemed to be locked in a heated conversation. Their noses were nearly touching. Harry sat across from them.

"It's Theo, isn't it?"

_Thank you, Draco_, Harry thought. "No, it's _not_," he said vehemently, making his eyes hedgy.

Just then, at the perfect moment, Theodore looked up, and Harry deliberately caught his eye. Harry shared a secret smile, while Theodore returned a somewhat quizzical grin and went back to talking to Sally-Anne, this time with a bit more space between them.

Draco crowed with glee. "I knew it! _I knew it!_"

"Know what?" Pansy said behind them.

"It's not a bit of your business, Pansy!" Draco said delightedly, "Though, you'd hate not knowing!"

She narrowed her eyes. "Draco Malfoy, I will tell everyone here your middle name if you don't tell me right this instant."

"You wouldn't," he said, narrowing his eyes as well.

Harry plowed into a second helping of food. He hadn't been this ravenous since his first year.

"I gave you fair warning," she said after their standoff had lasted long enough. "His name is Draco Tiberius Malfoy."

"_Tiberius_?" Harry said with a choked chortle. "It's _really _Tiberius?"

"Before you get carried away with your Muggle lore, I'll have you know that that's the name of a great Roman emperor. He's an ancestor of mine of the magical persuasion." Draco speared a slice of tomato and bit off the end of it.

Harry cleared his throat and began to hum a little ditty from an old American telly programme he'd seen re-runs of late at night at the Dursleys.

Theodore and Sally-Anne's—erm, non-verbal _conversation_ instantly stopped. Their lips broke apart as a wave of laughter overtook them. Harry pretended not to notice as he continued to hum. Poor Pansy looked rather bewildered and more than a little disappointed that Draco seemed to be pleased by the disclosure of his full name rather than annoyed.

"You've told him!" Theodore said still giggling.

"I did no such thing; it was Pansy's doing," Draco said haughtily.

Harry continued humming, making note of the Slytherins who grinned when they overheard him. Possible Muggle-borns?

"What _is_ that he's humming? It's rather nice, if strange…" Tracey ventured.

"Sounds a bit like Mermish didn't it?" Daphne said. She locked eyes with Harry and then blinked with confusion. "He has an image of a giant vessel run by Muggles… flying through… _outerspace_?"

"To explore where no man has gone before," Sally-Anne intoned, "This is the story of Captain Draco T. Malfoy and his crew of the Starship Enterprise."

That sent Theodore and Harry—not to mention a few of their housemates—into helpless laughter. It was too ridiculous.

"It's a Muggle thing," Draco said evenly to Pansy, whose eyes had bulged a little in reaction. _Rather like Luna's_, Harry thought.

"You're in Muggle Studies class, and you've never heard of Star Trek?" Harry asked the quartet of witches; they shook their heads at him. Quite a few Ravenclaws stopped, looking mildly curious.

"I've heard of it," Lisa Turpin said. "Wasn't my kind of show." On either side of her Padma Patil and Mandy Brocklehurst didn't look as if they had the foggiest idea what she was talking about. "You should know that Professor Burbage won't cover culturally important telly programmes until next year," Turpin said informatively.

"Well," Padma said shyly. "I heard Michael Corner was excited to learn that there were questions on the Muggle Studies O.W.L. pertaining to Star Wars…? He's absolutely nutters over it." She gave an exaggerated huff when she saw that Turpin and Brocklehurst had continued without her and caught up with her two friends out the Great Hall. "Oi! Slow down!"

Deciding that it might be better not to bring attention to the fact that his year-mates seemed to be on better terms, Harry began to hum again while he dug into his third plate. Although, he'd have to corner Wynch and tell him to stop ringing that confounded bell!

* * *

It is a strange thing, but when one is dreading something and would give anything to slow down time, it has the disobliging habit of speeding up. After that unusual day without magic, once Harry had regained it he'd become hyper-aware of _everything_. The tapestries, the paintings, suits of armor, every time someone swished their wand near Harry without calling forth magic. He was surrounded by—no, the very air he breathed was inundated with threads of magic. Even the grounds and the lake had it. There wasn't a moment where he didn't feel it, yet as the days went by the hyper-awareness dulled to more tolerable levels where he wasn't tasting magic in the food during meals and chafing against it in his magic-tailored robes.

So far, Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts was turning into a whirlwind of studious learning. Several classes had a rhythm to them; History of Magic was still boring as ever, and Harry kept nodding off during Astronomy. Charms and Herbology were a breeze. Arithmancy was growing more tedious as the calculus fundamentals moved into nonlinear functions, but at the very least they were diving more deeply into the magical properties of numbers and functions. Quite fascinating stuff if one liked patterns and problem-solving. In Study of Ancient Runes, the other students had caught on that Harry was being specifically targeted for Runic Traps when he failed to break himself out again and again. It was becoming something of an exercise for the others to build the counter-Rune before Professor Babbling entered the classroom.

During every Care of Magical Creatures class, Hagrid invited Harry to his cabin for a spot of tea, but Harry politely declined, as he was falling behind on the Distance Learning packets from the Salem Institute. More arrived every week, bringing back unpleasant memories of the dreaded scrolls from Snape. The Blast-Ended Skrewts had gotten even larger and more menacing than they had before. Harry wondered if the creatures, numbering in twenty, would continue killing each other until none were left.

In Transfigurations, they had finally moved from Conjuring to Switching spells, something Harry performed with marked ease. Harry's antidote had gotten an O, and the companion essay had gotten a snide comment in red ink reminding Harry to keep his hair from falling into the wrong hands.

The twins had yet to prank Ms. Oke beyond spelling her hair to stick up like spires—patently weaker than the flamboyant displays they were known for. Meanwhile, the principal had become his semi-permanent DADA tutor. Harry learned that the chiming of her rings was more 'flash and dazzle' than anything of practical use. There were permanent runes carved into the rings, but they were activated by a different method. Her wand was strapped to her forearm in a dueling harness, if she needed to do more complicated spellwork than what she could do nonverbally and wandlessly. Harry agreed to her strange lessons so long as she spent some of them giving tips on how to perform nonverbal magic.

"Like your friend said, Arithmancy is one way. Tricky if you're not a mathematical genius. One calculation off and either the spell will fail—the better outcome—or backfire unexpectedly. I always preferred straight-up will power and focus. Intertwining magic through arcane knowledge of the spell and imagination is the more flexible of these two methods." She set her hands on her hips. "You'd probably start with the former since I heard you didn't inherit your dad's brilliance at Transfigurations. Have a solid base in that and you'd make a brilliant wizard."

"I'm decent enough," Harry muttered, and the lesson on Arithmancy-based nonverbal spellwork began.

At least the rude comments about the _Daily Prophet _article had mostly stopped and the badges were no longer being worn by anybody. The Ravenclaws had been assailed by a frantic Finnigan and numerous Slytherin acquaintances, until the most logical course of action was to no longer wear the badges…

Just as Hermione's letters stopped coming as frequently, Ginny had gotten into the lovely habit of sending Harry letters every other day. They were much shorter since she didn't get carried away with explanations and ramblings, but they didn't have quite the personality that Hermione's always had. Harry chalked it up to shyness.

When Ginny's letters first started coming, he had received one from Fred and George Weasley too. Harry had been stunned when he read their support for courting their sister so long as Harry dropped his other three girlfriends. Apparently, now that it was common knowledge that Draco had been reprimanded for using Polyjuice Potion, the rumors had reversed in the opposite direction. Harry was supposedly dating Delacour, Lovegood, and Sally-Anne _concurrently_. Exactly when he had time to court witches on top of everything else was another matter altogether; he suspected that he would have needed a Time-Turner to pull it off.

Harry had written back to Ginny's brothers about how people would be better off expending their energy on actual knowledge rather than baseless rumors. Delacour seemed to be romantically engaged with Diggory, and Sally-Anne was sort-of spoken for by Theodore Nott. And Luna? Just because he happened to find a few hours or so out of the week to meditate and such for mental training, didn't mean that they were anything more than friends. Instead of obsessing over _who_ Harry was dating, they really ought to discover whether he was open to dating first.

And then the week of the First Task began. Harry saw the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons Champions, and they both looked… reserved compared to last week. Perhaps they had finally learned about the dragons? It was the only reason Harry could figure why they would be looking so wan.

Harry was glad that he'd had much longer to prepare. His chances of winning were that much greater. He was actually delighting in the other champions' disadvantage. That was, until Harry saw Cedric Diggory leave the Hufflepuff table Wednesday after lunch, looking strikingly calm despite the First Task being _tomorrow_.

Having one of those foreboding feelings, Harry led Theodore and Sally-Anne to the grassy center deep within the heart of Hogwarts, where Diggory and his fans often loitered. His way was blocked by a couple of glaring Hufflepuffs. "Excuse me," Harry said politely. "I have something to tell Diggory. It's important."

They moved aside for Harry, but stopped Sally-Anne and Theodore from passing. Harry traversed the short distance to the other Hogwarts champion, whose head was currently resting on another male student's lap.

"I need to speak to you," Harry said seriously.

Startled, Diggory sat up looking rather flustered and red-faced as one of his housemates jeered rudely at Harry, "Look, it's the Hogwarts champion!"

"And Skeeter reported my age as two years younger, you twit!" Harry snapped at the older Hufflepuff wizard. "She obviously lives in a fantasy world where it's alright to convey outright lies in a national newspaper." Harry took a deep breath, letting his anger settle in the quiet that fell. "Diggory, may I have a word or not?" He said more formally.

Diggory nodded, standing. "Yes. This way."

"You stink, Potty!" One of his fans yelled.

Harry ignored her. Diggory said over his shoulder, "Shut it, Monica."

"Come on, Ced! He's a smelly cheat! You can't trust whatever he has to say," the busty witch continued.

"If she doesn't stop, she's going to get hexed _and _I won't tell you what the First Task is," Harry said with a steady tone, stopping in the shade of a tall oak tree.

Diggory looked very concerned. He turned to look over his shoulder. "Monica! There's nothing for you to get jealous over. He's not even interested in blokes."

Still, Harry could feel her glaring murderously at him. It was an odd feeling. What had happened with Diggory and Delacour? Harry must have been mistaken by how chummy they'd gotten. He supposed he ought to be more lenient when people thought the same about him and other witches.

"You were saying?" Diggory said with a much more polite tone, when Harry didn't speak up.

"Dragons. They've got one for each of us."

The sixth year looked like he didn't want to believe Harry, but a frown pushed his thick brows together and a flicker of panic appeared in his eyes. "You… Are you serious?"

Harry nodded, glad that Diggory's adoring fans remained silent. "There's four kinds," he said and then told him which four they were.

"And… Fleur and Krum, do they—?"

"I assume so; they've been looking rather sick since Monday."

"You've known longer, haven't you?" Diggory said, rather astutely.

"Yes, and I couldn't very well let you be the only one to go into the task without any idea of what you were about to encounter. Didn't seem sporting when I already know what I'm going to do," Harry said.

"How did you find out?"

Harry lifted an eyebrow at him. "Do you _really_ have to ask?"

"Of course. _Malfoy. _His father must have heard something in the Ministry." Diggory frowned. "Thank you. You didn't have to tell me."

"No, I didn't." Without a farewell to the stunned Hufflepuff, Harry headed to the other side of the tree where he saw Theodore and Sally-Anne waiting. Unfortunately, Finnigan and Ron Weasley stepped out of the corridor, though Harry wasn't much worried about the latter wizard.

"What's the matter, Potty?" Finnigan said. "Miss your daily dose o' Harry Huntin'?"

"Are you—are you _barmy_?" Ron said to his friend, eyes goggling. "You're going to bully him after Fred and George cornered you?" Ron had that look which people often got when their worldviews didn't match up to reality.

"Not goin' to tattle on me, are ye?" Finnigan said meanly.

Ron shut his mouth and puffed his cheeks out, giving the appearance of an angry toddler. He rubbed his face. "Seamus, they've got eyes everywhere."

"Don't care."

"We can't be mates then," Ron said, his eyes growing serious.

"If yer scared of _them _then it's best we aren't." Finnigan turned his back on Ron, missing the hurt look flash across the Gryffindor's face. "Me mum and I have a bet," he continued, while a muttering Ron had walked straight back into the corridor in disgust. "I've put me money on, bettin' that you'll fail in the first ten minutes on your First Task. Me mum thinks you'll win it the quickest. She's out o' her mind, if ye ask me."

Harry sighed dramatically, raising his hands in the air. "Yes, I should give up now to save myself the humiliation…"

"Can't back out of—"

"Even if I could back out, I wouldn't. I'd hate to miss the look on your face when I prove your mum right."

"Bloody bold words for a snake!"

Harry snorted. "Is that the best you have? There's not a lick of originality in that small brain of yours. Pity, must be why you copy your oafish techniques from a Muggle who was so dim-witted that a tutor was brought in to teach him how to tie his own shoes." He turned to rejoin his friends. When Finnigan roared some obscenities, Harry felt magic flare behind him and so spun on a foot, whipping out his wand.

"Oh, no, you don't, sonny!" Professor Moody's voice bellowed. There was a blur of shape and color where Finnigan once stood and a reddish-brown ferret squeaked and quaked where it now sat.

A loud hiss of warning cut across whatever Harry was about to say. Harry immediately holstered his wand when he saw who it was. He stared in disbelief at the huge size of the Lionsnake, the same that had once curled around his arm. She had risen to eyelevel with Professor Moody, who had paused in his next movement when he saw her, and she swayed like a King cobra.

"_You will be dead when you harm on this child of Hogwarts!" _came Lucy's deep, melodic voice.

Terrified, the Finnigan-ferret let out a high shriek and sprinted to the corridor, which was bursting with curious Hufflepuffs, peering through the archways. One of them grabbed him before he could get much farther. At a safe distance by the largest tree in the courtyard, Diggory's group was staring and whispering excitedly.

"_Lucy?!_ _Where've you been?_" Harry approached the very large snake, but she flared her quills out in warning.

"_Stay back, Boy-Who-Survived-Great-Terror-And-Anguish!"_ And then Lucy spat angrily at Professor Moody again, when the ex-Auror didn't immediately lower his wand. _"You dare try my patience?"_

"Professor Moody, I would lower your wand if I were you," Harry said urgently. He saw that the man's Magical eye was whirling wildly in its socket, likely seeing others that were invisible to Harry. There were many depressions in the grass around them, agitated hissing filling the air the longer it took for him to comply.

"Professor Moody!" came a stern old witch's voice. Harry was relieved to hear the voice of the Head of Gryffindor House. "Lower your wand!"

With a snort, he holstered his wand, and Lucy clacked her quills together threateningly. _"First and last warning, Insane One_."

"She says that's your only warning," Harry said, and they watched as the massive Lionsnake bowed towards Harry respectfully before disappearing in a faint shimmer of light.

With a grim look, Professor Moody's normal eye fixed on the face of the Transfigurations professor as if he knew what to expect, while the other stilled only enough to track the impressive snake.

"Alastor, Dumbledore warned you about the Lionsnakes," Professor McGonagall said with a raised voice.

"He might've mentioned them," he said gruffly, leaning heavily on his staff.

"Well, you will do well to remember that. If you threaten a student again, you may be sent to the infirmary," Professor McGonagall said. At his nod of understanding, the professor raised her hands at the gathered students. "Away!"

They fled before her.

Harry decided it was time to go to the dungeons. He kept his hand by his wand until he was nearly at the portrait-hole and neither of his friends beside him said a word about it.

If the Defense Against the Dark Arts class with the Imperius Curse hadn't done it, it was Lucy's appearance that had. Harry absolutely did not trust Professor Moody. Unfortunately, any plan to reveal whether he was Polyjuiced would have to wait until after the First Task. Harry would need to rest tonight.

Next morning, Harry did a set of stretches after a light warm-up to settle his nerves. If he hadn't had the re-adjusted Torpor Rune, he wouldn't have slept a wink. The atmosphere of the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop midday, giving the students time to get down to the dragons' enclosure in the arena—though of course, many of them didn't yet know what they would find there. Harry had told Ginny and Neville about them; they at least would have told their closest friends.

Harry felt oddly separate from everyone around him, whether they were wishing him good luck or whispering 'Broiled's not a good look for you, Potty' as he passed. He vaguely wondered if he might be scared. That seemed like the reasonable conclusion for the strange way time was passing. One moment he seemed to be sitting down in his first lesson, Study of Ancient Runes, and the next walking into the Great Hall. Harry managed to eat a plate of lunch. It wouldn't do to pass out during the task. Even though his friends and other housemates were talking about inconsequential things, the mood was stale. They knew what he would be walking into shortly, knew that there was a chance he wouldn't come back alive. Yet, Harry had done everything he could to prepare.

Seeing the greasy-haired bat glide across the Great Hall, Harry wondered where the last of his dragon-free hours had gone. "Potter, the champions are to head to the grounds now… To prepare for your First Task."

"Alright," Harry said, standing, and dropped his fork onto his unfinished plate of food with a jarring clatter. Conversation came to a standstill as their eyes turned to him.

"Good hunting, Harry," Theodore said. Sally-Anne and several others wished him luck. Draco rambled a few reminders in a great gust of air. Daphne was smiling at Harry in that intensely incisive manner that was seriously unnerving. He'd tried to avoid talking to her alone ever since she learned of the soul-shard's existence.

A little laugh erupted from Harry's throat.

"You'll be fine," Sally-Anne said confidently. None of them reached out to give him a reassuring pat. They knew he wouldn't have liked that.

"Yeah," Harry said in a voice that was most unlike the terrified one in his head.

He left the Great Hall. The Potions Master didn't say anything at all until they were outside Hogwarts Castle, walking down the stone steps. "As long as you _don't_ panic and keep your wits about you, you should be well-prepared for this task," came the even, bored tone as if there was no dragon at all to worry about, just some silly chess tournament that had no chance of becoming a matter of life or death.

"Yes, of course," Harry heard himself say with more assertiveness than he thought himself capable. How the bloody hell was the adult being so calm about it? Harry thought he'd have been a bit mental about it, making digs at him on their long walk.

In complete silence, he was led into the Forbidden Forest, and then time did that funny thing again and skipped forward. Harry blankly looked around them when they stopped. They were standing near a wooden arena firmly nestled in the side of a cleared hill. There was a sizable tent; its entrance faced them, revealing heavily patterned rugs inside.

"Go inside and wait your turn, Potter," Professor Snape said calmly. "Professor Flitwick will tell you the procedure once all the champions arrive."

"Thank you, sir," Harry said in a voice that had gone flat and distant. The First Task was less than a couple hours away. The professor left without another word, and Harry entered the tent.

Dressed in what looked to be a powder blue fencing suit, Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She looked even worse than she had on Monday; her face was pale and clammy and she didn't notice that Harry had stepped in. Changing into a different set of robes, Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which Harry supposed was his way of showing nerves. All while Cedric Diggory, wearing black robes with yellow sleeves and trim, was pacing up and down the length the tent; only he sent Harry a small smile, which Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard.

"Your champion robes are in the room they set for you." Diggory nodded to the hanging outfit. It had green long-sleeves with silver trim at the shoulders and wrists. Otherwise it had a similar appearance to the Salem Institute's uniform except made of a loose fabric.

"Thank you," Harry said with the same blank face and tone. When he passed the hanging, it shut behind him so he could have some privacy. The outfit was much more comfortable than it looked, stretching to fit him and causing no loss of mobility as his Salem Institute robes had, though it had a bit of a tendency to ride up in the groin. Once he'd changed and pulled at the outfit so that it'd settle more comfortably, the curtains slid back and he strapped his holster on. Without his Spellfast Cloak, Harry felt vulnerable. Accessories beyond a wand were not allowed.

"Not bad, Potter," Diggory commented, smiling at him. Harry's cheek twitched before it completely gave up its effort of friendliness.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat, and Harry and the three other champions turned to see that he was standing atop a little staircase—to better speak to them without getting a crick in his neck. "Hello, champions! Once the stands have filled, Mr. Crouch will arrive with a sack of models. You shall take one and that shall be the creature you face in your task to collect the golden egg."

Harry noticed that only Diggory had nodded with a determined look on his face. Neither of the other two champions reacted. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths. Harry continued feeling disconnected; it was ironic that he seemed the calmest of the lot considering that he hadn't volunteered for this, not like the others had under their own willpower.

Time rushed forward in great dollops and soon Harry heard hundreds of footsteps thudding by, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking… He felt as separate from the crowd as though they were a different species. Faintly he could hear the raucous cries of the Weasley twins taking up wagers, and then Dumbledore's voice began to proclaim something about it being a great day. Harry had to admit that the weather being clear and sunny certainly helped with the task ahead.

"Psst!"

Harry spun around to see who had made that noise. He stared at the tent wall. "What?"

"Harry, is that you?" Hermione's voice wavered towards him.

"Yeah," he whispered, his mind clearing. He couldn't help the smile on his face. It felt like ages since their Study of Ancient Runes class that morning.

"How are you feeling? Okay?" The distant feeling began anew, and Harry wasn't sure how to answer. "I heard from Sally-Anne that you've trained for nearly a month. The key is to _concentrate_. After that—"

"I just need to battle a dragon," Harry said trying to be reassuring but his tone was all wrong.

Hermione made a noise and pushed the tent walls away. She threw her arms around him tightly, pressing every bit of her softness against him. Harry grabbed her in surprise so he didn't fall over, and then a bright light flashed along with a puff of thick smoke.

The Gryffindor pulled away, and Harry saw it was the photographer and Rita Skeeter, who had her mouth open in shocked pleasure. "_Young love_,_" _She enunciated stepping inside in a tight brown leather dress that Harry recognized as being made of dragon-hide. _Here we go_, Harry thought distantly. He thought about Quidditch because that was quite the lovely sport.

Skeeter let out a gasp of adulation while her notepad and a quill with an exceptionally long black-spotted green feather shivered and floated after her. "How… _stirring_." She glanced over and the quill very quickly wrote down lines of information.

"I would appreciate it if you left," Harry said most politely. Now that he thought about it, the gossip columnist had the appearance of a candle, thin and pale with eyes like low-burning fire.

"Hmm… if everything goes unfortunately today, you two may even make the front page!" She adjusted her glasses looking quite pleased at that.

"Hyu hav no business here!" Krum's voice announced loudly from his corner of the tent, and Skeeter's face grew cold and ugly. "This tent is ffor champions… und friends," Krum quickly added the last part when he glanced at Hermione.

Skeeter's blond curly hair bobbed in understanding, and she shifted, holding up her hand for the quill to hop in it like a faithful pet. "No matter. We've got what we wanted." The green feather flicked Krum in the face, which only caused his already incensed expression to grow darker. Another flash of the camera caught the other three champions looking rather irate at Skeeter's departing back.

"Er, this is Hermione Granger," Harry said, introducing her to the three curious Champions.

"How do you do?" She said breathlessly, looking at Krum with wide eyes and a slightly parted mouth.

"Oh, I know you!" Diggory said, "I heard from Ernie that you're the brainiest witch in Harry's year."

Hermione's face turned an interesting shade of pink as Delacour turned her sharp eyes on her. "Ernest exaggerates. I'm really not—"

Beyond the Gryffindor, Professor Dumbledore announced, "Good day, champions! Gather round, please." In streamed Madam Maxine, Igor Karkaroff, Ms. Oke, and Mr. Crouch. "Now, you've waited, you've wondered and at last the moment has arrived." As Dumbledore spoke, he wrapped an arm around Hermione who was looking quite worried. "A moment only four of you can fully appreciate." He glanced at her and drew back as if he'd just seen her. "What're you doing here, Miss Granger?"

Hermione let out a breath. "Oh, um, sorry, I'll just go." She glanced once more at Harry, and he nodded at her reassuringly. Then she slipped through the tent flaps.

"Barty, the bag, please," Professor Dumbledore said.

"Champions, in a circle around me." When they didn't move fast enough, Mr. Crouch moved them into a circle. One by one he offered the champions the smoking bag, starting with Delacour.

She put a shaking hand inside and drew out a tiny, animated dragon—a Swedish Shortsnout, Harry noted as Mr. Crouch announced it. She had a look of determined resignation on her face.

The same held true for Krum, suggesting to Harry that he had been right to tell Diggory about the dragons. The Durmstrang Champion pulled out a scarlet Chinese Fireball, the trickiest one of the bunch because they were so intelligent.

_If only I could get the Welsh Green…_ he thought as Mr. Crouch went to Diggory, who put his hand into the bag. He opened his hand to reveal the only dragon native to Britain, the exact one Harry had wanted because they were so easy to trick.

"Which leaves…" Mr. Crouch trailed.

"The Horntail," Harry muttered under his breath.

"What's that, boy?" The wizard said sharply.

"Nothing." He reached in, wincing when the 'model' bit his thumb, and withdrew a fierce-looking dragon, which bared its miniscule fangs at him threateningly. It would have looked a bit cute in miniature, barring all the spines.

"The Hungarian Horntail," Mr. Crouch said solemnly. For a brief instant, Harry wondered if Crouch had rigged it so that he'd had the worst one. Harry looked up at Dumbledore who looked at him with a serious expression as if he might've thought the same thing. "These represent four very real dragons. Your objective is simple: Collect the egg. This you must do, for each egg contains a clue without which you cannot hope to proceed to the next task." Mr. Crouch looked among the champions. "Any questions?"

Everyone stared at him, still as death.

Professor Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Very well, good luck, champions. Mr. Diggory, at the sound of the cannon, you may—"

A cannon went off above them, causing the support to kickback. Professor Karkaroff and Viktor Krum dropped to the ground, likely thinking they were under attack. Harry looked up to see Argus Filch, grinning nastily down at all of them. Outside the tent, the crowd erupted with very loud cheers.

Professor Dumbledore pointed towards the gaping hole in the front of the tent where Skeeter had appeared earlier. Harry tried to wish Diggory luck as the ill-looking Hufflepuff went past but all that came out of his mouth was a sort of hoarse grunt…

It was worse than Harry could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening as the crowd chanted Diggory's name… gasped… screamed, as Diggory did what he could to complete the task set before him. A familiar man's voice, the same that had been at the World Quidditch Cup, was announcing everything, making everything much, much worse inside Harry's mind…

And then—it seemed about a second later to Harry—that there was the unmistakable roar of the crowd. Outside Professor Dumbledore was announcing the next champion to attempt the task.

Delacour stepped up to the entrance. She was trembling head to foot.

"You'll do fine," Harry said encouragingly, "A Swedish Shortsnout has the biggest blindspot of the bunch."

Instead of glaring at him, Delacour gave him a hopeful smile, pulled her shoulders back, and held her head high. "Zanks, 'Arry," she said coolly. Her curved wand was tightly clutched into her hand. When the cannon went off, she proudly set off to face her dragon. He and Krum were left alone, at opposite sides of the tent. Krum steadfastly refused to meet Harry's gaze.

The same process started again, replete with details of the dragon fight. Harry was just beginning to settle into a fantastical daydream where he was playing Quidditch when the crowd roared with their approval, applauding.

The headmaster announced Krum next; he too gripped his wand as he stared towards the tent opening. At the sound of the BOOM, Krum slouched out, and Harry was left quite alone in the tent. He looked around, and realized there were crates of medical supplies, likely if one of them were to become seriously injured…

As he waited, Harry felt much more aware of his body than usual; aware of the way his heart was pumping fast, his fingers tingling with fear, his wand buzzing with anticipation in his palm… yet, at the same time, Harry seemed to be outside of himself, seeing the walls of the tent, and hearing the crowd, as though he were far away…

"Three of our champions have now faced their dragons, and so each one of them will proceed to the next task."

Harry quickly stood and made his way to the front of the tent. The moment he'd seen the Hungarian Horntail he'd abandoned the thought of distracting it by conjuring fairy lights or bad smells since neither would work well… Hungarian Horntails were too territorial to be drawn away from whatever object they were meant to protect, which meant the two of the three strategies his housemates had helped devise were largely made ineffective. Any of them _could_ work if he used them together, but the chances of unmaimed success were not more than half.

"And now our fourth and final contestant, Harry Potter," Professor Dumbledore announced. The crowd erupted with glee, and the cannon went off above him.

Harry quickly Disillusioned himself with a twirl of his wand above him. It wouldn't do anything for his scent, which he couldn't mask from the magical beast, but at least it wouldn't make it easier for it to aim fire at him. Harry only wanted to check out the lay of the arena before committing to the final strategy: summoning his broom…

"_Harry! Harry! Harry!_" The crowd chanted as he invisibly trotted down the slope into the rocky enclosure.

He saw everything in front of him as though it was a highly vivid dream. There were hundreds of faces staring down at the entrance expectantly. And there was the Horntail, crouched low over a clutch of real dragon eggs, her wings half-furled, her evil yellow eyes gazing at the crowd above her.

Harry turned and walked right back to the tent when his chest compressed tightly. He breathed in harshly, nixing the broom idea. He was going to do the insane plan; The one that Theodore had thrown out because no sane individual would ever attempt it. It was a good thing that Harry could no longer claim to be mentally sound.

He canceled the Disillusionment charm that had kept him hidden and then took in a deep breath and exhaled softly. He took in another deep breath focusing. He'd performed this charm over and over again before one of the older Slytherins had calculated the maximum time of protection against an onslaught. Harry tapped his forehead, and then cast, "_Pyros Immobulus Maxima!_"

When he sprinted out into the arena, the crowd went ballistic. Harry didn't pause at all as he headed straight for the Horntail without a second thought. Many of them screamed above him. Harry thought they'd have put a Silencing Ward up; Draco had insinuated such a thing. "What are you doing?!"

"HE'S MAD!"

"Harry, don't!"

The very spiky, horned tail of the dragon came down next to him like a club and then cut sideways.

"_Protego_!" The tail glanced against the shield and slammed into the opposite wall after destroying his Shield Charm. The Horntail made a loud roar of anger; it reared up, taking a great gulp of air, as Harry rushed straight towards the golden egg.

"_Carpe Retractum!" _He shouted, pointing his wand at the egg; a long whip-like vine snapped out, gathering up the egg and flinging it back to him.

The whole crowd was screaming now, and the spectators had jumped to their feet in horror.

Just as his arms closed around the egg, two great jets of fire bore down upon him. Having only half a second to turn, Harry cradled the egg and his wand and ran away as fast as he could; his life depended on it. He felt the tickling of a million feathers gracing his skin. The dragon's flame could no longer reach him after three seconds once he had sprinted to a safer spot closer to the entrance of the arena. With a large grin upon his face, he saw smoke rise from the sleeves of his outfit as he held the golden egg up, while the crowd stared down at him momentarily silent, with shocked and stunned faces. Harry's heart was thudding heavily in his ears and throat, and he swallowed tasting soot and burnt hair.

The dragon-keepers rushed forward to subdue the Horntail which looked ready to break free of its chains to get the egg back. Professor Snape descended from the staircase nearest to Harry as the noise of the crowd suddenly roared in waves against his eardrums. "Potter, this way." When he trekked up the slope after the Potions Master, Harry's heart felt lighter than it had in weeks… he'd passed the First Task and survived. Hagrid was waving at him excitedly a little farther up the hill. They had past the Champions' Tent now, so Harry bounded past the Potions Master, holding the Golden Egg over his head like he'd lost his wits.

He could hear people shrieking, "Yes!" over and over again and heavy sustained applause from the stands.

"Look at that!" The announcer boomed and echoed over the grounds. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!"

"Crikey, 'Arry!" Hagrid said loudly. Harry barreled into the adult and was engulfed in a massive hug. Hagrid lifted him turning with his excitement. "Yeh did it! An' agains' th' Horntail! That was amazin'!"

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said. There was a strange, far-off buzzing noise, like the sound of cicadas awakening from a long hibernation… Harry looked off towards the trees curiously as he was set down. He settled the egg against his hip.

The half-giant ran a rough hand over his tongue and then rubbed Harry's cheeks. Harry tried not to make a face at the smell of spit. "Got some soot on yeh. Nice an' easy does th' trick!"

It felt as if Hagrid had only smeared it. Harry would cast a charm later. He was quite thirsty.

Professor Snape said, "Hagrid, Poppy is ready to check him for injury."

Thankfully, the irritating buzz faded as soon as Harry walked into the medical tent. Madam Pomfrey was waiting inside, looking worried.

"Dragons!" she said with a disgusted tone, gesturing for him to step closer. The tent was divided into cubicles like the other one; he could make out Diggory's shadow in one of them. Madam Pomfrey immediately cast a set of diagnostic spells, all while talking, "Last year dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next?" She blinked at the floating words and symbols hanging around Harry. "…Uninjured, are you?" She said sounding miffed.

"Flame-Freezing Charm." Harry beamed at her.

"Good heavens!" The Healer exclaimed, "That would only hold against a dragon for—"

"Five seconds… _Maybe_," Harry said with gleeful self-assurance, setting the golden egg aside. "As you can see, this outfit and my hair were a bit singed, and I've a bit of soot on my glasses—should be easy to clean up." He then cast several Cleaning charms, one specifically for Floo travel. "And good as new."

Madam Pomfrey made a frustrated noise at the back of her throat. "I'm lucky you arrived back at all! What were you **_thinking_**?" Her whole body was stormy with disappointment and fear for his safety.

"I was thinking of winning without hurting myself or the dragon… or its eggs," Harry said honestly, holstering his wand.

"Well, go on then. Out with you! They should be determining your score soon," she said angrily, bustling over to Diggory's cubicle. Picking up his egg again, Harry wandered through the opening of the tent and heard her ask nicely, "How does it feel now, Diggory?"

Professor Snape was waiting beside the tent, which apparently had a special ward to block out noise. Harry wondered why he would be hearing cicadas at the end of autumn, but decided it would be better not to mention them. Without a word spoken, Harry was led back to the arena.

Now that the Hungarian Horntail was taken away, Harry could see where five judges were sitting—right at the other end, in raised seats draped in gold.

The first judge, Madam Maxine, raised her wand in the air. What looked like a long silver ribbon shot out the tip of it, which twisted itself into two parts, a one and a zero. Harry had gotten a ten. The crowd burst into an approving roar.

Mr. Crouch raised his wand next and he shot what looked like a rocket into the air. It burst into… a _ten_! The crowd gave its support.

The Headmaster stood up and he too put a number ten into the air with golden ribbon, and the crowd went wild. Ms. Oke raised a long purple wand and sparks of light sprang forth forming into another _ten_!

"This is out of ten, right?" Harry said, feeling stunned.

Professor Snape nodded ever so slightly.

And now Karkaroff raised his wand. He paused for a moment and then a number shot out of his wand—_zero_.

"He must really not like me," Harry commented with amusement, smile not fading from his lips as he cradled his golden egg. The crowd's indignation had already swelled angrily on Harry's behalf, filling the air with hisses and boos. Their reaction was worth more than a hundred points to him. After all, there hadn't been only Slytherins cheering in the crowd. When it had come to it, even though Harry was representing another school, Hogwarts students threw their support behind him as much as they had for Diggory. As he turned to leave the enclosure, Harry noticed that the cicadas or whatever they were had finally fallen silent, and he sighed in relief. He didn't need another strange occurrence to worry about with so much going on.

"To the champions' tent, Potter," Snape directed behind him.

Harry reentered the tent, which somehow looked and felt quite different now: friendly and welcoming. He thought back to how he'd felt dodging the Horntail and allowing it to breathe fire over him, and then compared it to the long wait before he'd walked out to face the dragon… there was no comparison; the wait had been immeasurably worse.

Turning, Harry saw the other three champions walk in, each carrying a golden egg. Krum had lost his eyebrows in the fight, but otherwise looked fine. Delacour had a wrapping around her left arm. A large amount of Diggory's hair was gone, and one side of Diggory's face, neck, and shoulder was covered in a thick orange paste, which was presumably covering a severe burn. Harry couldn't help the small thought in the back of his mind of whether the Hufflepuff would have survived at all had he gotten the Hungarian Horntail. Diggory grinned when he saw Harry, "Fleur told me how it went, and I told them what charm you used. Brilliant work. You're a madman, but most geniuses are."

"Thanks," Harry said, wary of offering the Hufflepuff a smile after he winked at Harry.

"Well done all of you!" Professor Flitwick said, bouncing into the tent. He climbed the steps onto his little platform and took a moment to look at them, looking very pleased with each and every one of them. "Now, you have a long break before the Second Task. It will take place at half past nine on the morning of February Twenty-Fourth. The clue you need to solve is within the egg, which will enable you to prepare for it. Any questions?" When no one said anything, the Charms Professor said brightly, "Off to dinner then!"

Harry left the tent. He was disappointed to see that none of his other friends had snuck down to greet him like Hermione had. Rejoining the-ever glowering Potions Master who hadn't said a word about Harry's amazing feat, they started to walk back through the Forbidden Forest. Harry soon suspected that any of his friends had been shooed away by his Head of House. Thankfully, the mysterious cicadas remained silent. Harry frowned, but was startled out of his suspicious thoughts when a full-grown witch jumped out from a clump of bushes. Harry saw that Snape had already drawn his wand.

It was Rita Skeeter, _again_. "Congratulations, Harry!" she said, beaming at him. "I wonder if you could—"

Professor Snape brandished his wand beneath the reporter's nose. "_Piss off_."

She let out a little laugh and backed away, her quill scribbling furiously beside her. "Well, pardon me, Severus. I meant no disrespect, of course…"

Harry turned and set off back to the castle before the Potions Master had a chance to order him to. Now that he was away from the white noise of magic-users, he heard malevolent whispering as it tried to tell him how brilliant he was and how much he deserved the complete respect and profound deference of everyone around him. Harry ignored the soul-shard. As far as he was concerned, Voldemort's pride had helped orchestrate his downfall. Harry would not make the same mistake.

When Harry entered the Slytherin common room, it exploded with cheers and yells. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and tankards of Butterbeer. Somebody had put up a banner which depicted Harry running away with the stolen egg from a fire-breathing dragon, whose fire obviously left him untouched, but for the curls of smoke rising from him. There was another drawing; this one of Diggory—a smaller one—with his head on fire that Harry had thought was in bad taste. "_Diffindo_," he cast, and it immediately shredded itself into confetti. No one dared to say a word.

Quite pleased with the celebration, Harry helped himself to the feast, absolutely ravenous. He sat between Theodore and Sally-Anne. To have completed the First Task without injury was a gratifying feeling, and the Second Task wouldn't be for another three months! There would be plenty of time to rout out Voldemort's servant and prepare for the next task.

"Eesh, this is heavy," the skinny-armed Prefect Brunt complained as he lifted the golden egg Harry had left on the table.

"Why don't you open it, so we can get started?" Prefect Carmine had a huffy tone.

"I'm supposed to work out the clue on my own," Harry said with an impish grin.

Everyone laughed uproariously at that, knowing that he had certainly accepted help when he was supposed to have gotten past the dragons on his own too.

Theodore passed the egg to Harry, and he inspected it much more closely. It had intricate patterns all over it and there were hinges along the bottom… and seams running straight to the top. Harry placed his hand at the very top and twisted it.

The moment the flaps dropped down, revealing absolutely nothing inside, the most horrible sound, a loud and screechy wailing filled the room. He dropped the egg covering his ears in pain.

"SHUT IT!" Draco bellowed, his hands clasped to his ears.

The Head Boy dove for the egg, slamming the sides shut. Harry smiled as Wynch set it in his lap. "Thanks."

"What the bloody hell was that?" Prefect Renshaw asked the prefect next to him.

Head Girl Dedworth had a frown on her face. Harry was at a loss too.

"Look!" Jennifer Cloveleaf, a first year, exclaimed with awe. Every Slytherin's attention turned and followed the pointed finger towards the tall windows. Fish-like mermaids and mermen were peering inside curiously, their facial fins quirked up.

"Water!" The Head Girl cried out, "Someone conjure a large bowl and put water in it!"

Before long, a great tub of water was sitting in the middle of the room with the golden egg submerged in it before Harry. Draco, Sally-Anne, and all the prefects were circled around the tub with him. Theodore was stuffing his face with the cake. The Full Moon wasn't that far away. "I'll hear it secondhand anyway," he said between bites.

"If I'm right, everyone should be able to listen to the clue underwater," Dedworth said. She was the expert at languages, Harry knew, but what did _water_ have to do with anything…?

"Alright," Wynch said, "On the count of three, one… two… three—!"

With a great breath of air, Harry dunked his head in with the other seven and quickly spun the clasp. The flaps slowly dropped open. The most melodious voice hit Harry's ears.

"_Come and seek us where our voices sound,  
We cannot sing above the ground_

_An hour long to search and look  
To recover that which we took,_

_But past an hour—the prospect's black,  
Your beloved treasure won't come back."_

Harry broke from the water gasping for air.

"Selkies tend to be more forward than that," Draco said, not looking the least bit out of breath. His hair looked silly when it wasn't slicked down. The prefects had conglomerated, speaking urgently to one another.

"What did they say?" Theodore said between hungry bites, before taking a great swallow of Butterbeer. Then the prefects cast a strange-looking charm on themselves, something that looked crossed between a balloon and a jellyfish, and dunked their heads back into the water. One of them closed the egg and re-opened it beneath the water's surface.

Draco recited the riddle precisely by heart. The first, second and third years were listening to him with rapt attention.

"Yes, quite cryptic," Theodore quipped lightly, "If you didn't already know that Merpeople have a lurid past of snatching these 'beloved treasures' off ships to take to their watery home." He took a giant chomp of an apple. "Oo, this is fantastic!"

"So… what will they be taking? Do you think my Firebolt would be alright underwater?" Harry asked curiously.

"You are _hopeless_. They're going to snatch someone you care for, _obviously_," Draco said, shrewdly glancing at Theodore, "It would just be our luck that you had to retrieve a certain Muggle-born Gryffindor."

"Don't be jealous!" Pansy admonished. "_You_ just want to be the one taken so you can brag to everyone about being the Grey Grace's favorite."

"Oh, don't use that title. It's horrific," Daphne said sharply. "And Draco's right. Harry's beloved should be a proper Pureblood to rekindle his bloodline."

"Someone like you?" Pansy scoffed. "He's already wary because of the way you look at him."

"Mmm," Daphne said, sharp eyes flicking to Harry. "Better to be noticed than not, my dear flower."

Squabbling exploded between the two fourth years, which soon spread to the younger years. Harry took that distraction to ease his way towards the dormitory stairwell. The rest of the Slytherins seemed caught up in intense debate of who Harry's 'beloved treasure' would be. He wasn't really surprised since they were all obsessed abut who was courting whom. As soon as he made it up the first step, he ran up the stairs to his room. He was going to write to Sirius right away and tell him that he'd done it; he'd passed the First Task!


End file.
